Marry The Knight
by seriousish
Summary: How do you stop Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy from marrying rich and killing their husbands for the inheritance? Well, if you're Bruce Wayne, you can always marry them yourself.
1. Chapter 1

Wayne Manor was a monolith in Gotham's fickle aesthetics, remaining constant as the city planners constantly quarreled amongst themselves over whether the city should be a one great gothic cathedral, a cyberpunk landscape, a decaying urban jungle, or even a showcase for giant typewriters and abandoned circuses. Through it all, the manor maintained its stately dignity.

In October, jack o'lanterns sprung up, more to defuse the manor's intimidating veneer than to add to it. In December, Christmas lights rung the gates. And rarely, _very_ rarely, the press was allowed onto the grounds. There, they would inevitably assemble around the east wing's patio like an army laying siege. And there, Bruce Wayne would make his formal public appearances, most often to dispel some paternity suit or another.

Today was an exception. Today, it had been three hundred and sixty-five days since the Eugenic Bomb…

* * *

Lois Lane looked at her notepad, eying her own prose. Could use punching up. Was she sure that Wayne Manor only changed in October and December? She thought she'd heard something about pink ribbons during Breast Cancer Awareness Week…

Lois, like a hundred other journalists, had convened on the manor like ducks on bread. Because when Bruce Wayne wanted to say something, he either leaked it like a normal genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, or he held a press conference. It was a press conference, which meant that he was letting people into his home. Or at least close to it. And for the notoriously private Wayne, who'd never even had his phone hacked, that meant it was something important.

Lois bet that Wayne was finally going to come out of the closet. Her husband had twenty dollars on the exact opposite. She loved Clark, but obviously gaydar wasn't one of his superpowers.

A sudden bustle from the gossip rags got her attention. Their cameras acted as a crude strobe light as Bruce Wayne strolled out from the depths of his manor. He was dressed casually for such a clotheshorse: penny loafers, khaki pants, and a magenta dress shirt (Lois _knew it_).

He went unerringly to the podium erected before the porch's balustrades. With an understated but firm gesture, he signaled for the roar of questions and flash photography to stop. And miraculously, it did.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming." To no one's surprise, the speaker system was calibrated perfectly, without even a hint of feedback. "I really wish I could just be out here announcing a new charity golf tournament—or even explaining away a photograph of me with a lampshade on my head."

He paused a half-second for some appreciative laughter, and cut it off just as it died down. Lois was always impressed by the way the man could work a room.

"But unfortunately, I'm out here on business. It was one year ago today that the Evilutionist set off his Eugenic Bomb, rendering a full ninety-nine percent of the population infertile. This week, you've already heard from some of the world's health organizations, its individual leadership, and the Justice League. But because there has also been a great deal of misinformation and rumormongering, let me take this opportunity to set the record straight for everyone within range of my voice."

He stopped to adjust his cufflinks, lips twitching as if he were trying to lessen his scowl, tone down his sudden seriousness. Lois watched carefully, tapping her pen. Her tape recorder would be catching everything. She only had to write down her impressions.

"There is no apparent cure for this sterility. Now, thankfully we were dealing with an _overpopulation _problem before the blast, so it will be some time before the effects of this tragedy change our way of life. But they will. All our technological sophistication is useless without people to run it. So, for that one percent of people who weren't affected, they need to start making babies. The traditional, monogamous method of reproduction is no longer conducive to the survival of our species. Traditional marriage is no longer viable.

"Polygamous marriage has now been legalized by every member nation of the UN. No one wants for there to be a breeding program, or to infringe in any way on the rights of those women who are still fertile. I realize how strange this sounds, and how much it goes against people's upbringing. Which is why so much of the Justice League, and other superhero bodies, have been leading the way in multiple marriages to demonstrate to the general public that such relationships can and must work for humanity to continue. I myself, as one of the One-Percent-Fertile, will be doing the same. I hope you all say to yourselves that if Bruce Wayne can settle down and get hitched, _anyone can._"

Lois was first to ask the obvious question, interrupting the laughter before it began. "So who's the lucky lady, Wayne?"

"_Ladies. _As I said, no one's a one-woman man anymore, not if they're fertile. Which brings me to why I really called you here today. No, much as I enjoy your company, it wasn't just to go over what you already know."

This time, Lois let him get his laughs.

"When the Eugenic Bomb went off, the Justice League and allies were fighting with the Secret Society of Supervillains within the Evilutionist's lair. As a result, virtually no superhero or supervillain on Earth was rendered infertile. For lack of a better term, that's breeding stock that can't be ignored. This morning, the UN passed a resolution offering blanket immunity for past crimes to any female supervillain who agrees to a child-rearing marriage."

The press exploded into questions, and Bruce just set his hands on the podium to wait it out. Meanwhile, Lois wrote in her notepad simply: _Holy shit._

That would cover it until she could get to her laptop and write about ten thousand words.

Again, Bruce did whatever mass hypnosis trick let him quiet down a crowd of curious reporters. In the silence, he said, "I believe in justice and I believe in the law. But these are the most pressing of extenuating circumstances. Most of these women are not evil, they've simply made the wrong choices. To some extent or another, they've all paid for them. Some would say they haven't paid enough. To that, I can only reply that I hope these women will take advantage of this opportunity to _earn _the second chance they've been given. And the women I'm marrying I believe intend to do just that. They've been referred to by other titles, but from now on, I'd prefer if they were known simply as Pamela and Harleen Wayne."

This time, even Bruce Wayne's crowd control couldn't contain the uproar.

Lois checked her phone. TMZ had gone live with the story already, with no more information than the big headline **BRUCE WAYNE TO WED HARLEY QUINN AND POISON IVY. **Other sites were following suit, the alerts filling up her inbox like a flood.

"No one has any questions?" Bruce asked wryly ten minutes later, when the noise had finally died down. "That's alright. I know what you're thinking. 'Brucie, why would a guy who could have any woman in the world—'"

(He nodded bashfully, eying Lois. Okay, _so_ not gay.)

"—decide to marry two women who are so… ethically challenged?' Well, that's the reason right there. Pamela and Harleen are phenomenally intelligent, talented, beautiful, and passionate women. Due to the Joker and Jason Woodrue, two promising lives were derailed. I will use all my resources and abilities to help them reclaim the great futures that were stolen from them. It's my responsibility as a man of wealth and fertility. And I hope that others will follow my lead and allow some of these wonderful women, these so-called villainesses, into their lives. Try as I might, I can't handle them all on my own."

Everyone was a bit too stunned by the roller coaster ride to laugh, so Bruce ended his stand-up routine on a cold room. Lois didn't mind. She'd already filled the notepad with questions: _When's the wedding? Whose idea was this, yours, Ivy's, or Harley's? How will you deal with Ivy's toxicity and/or pheromones? How soon will you wait before trying for kids?_

And she'd already gauged the security system. She'd come back in an hour, break in, try to get an exclusive.

For now, she updated her schedule. She'd have to catch a later flight to Salt Lake City to cover the still-ongoing Mormon party. And Clark and Lana were supposed to meet her there, too. Lana was cooking. As wary as she'd been at the prospect of sharing her husband with a goddamn harem, the upside was that _finally_, someone in the house knew how to cook.

But her readers would have questions for Bruce Wayne. They deserved answers.

Not that she was convinced that Wayne wasn't gay. The man virtually collected hot teenage boys. What was up with that? And how could Lois get in on it?

* * *

That night, the Gotham Museum of Natural History shrieked at the moon and stars. The underpaid security guards bumbled along to the tune of the alarm like an ant hill with a bootprint in it.

Response time from the Gotham City Police Department was fifteen minutes. Batman was there in three, finding Catwoman sprawled on the rooftop beside the open skylight and spinning a slender artifact in her hand like a baton.

"The Statuette of Bast," Batman said gruffly, still pleased to be shaking off the high voice of his alter ego. "Thought that'd be a little cliché for you these days."

Catwoman pouted noncommittally. "Sentimental value, perhaps?"

"I also heard it was a fake."

"I heard that too." She set it down. "We do have some time to kill before the police arrive. You could make the usual pitch for me to change my wicked ways, see things in black and white—_or _you could explain why you're the meat in a psycho bitch sandwich. I mean, I've heard of the boyfriend and the best friend before, Bruce, but this takes the cake."

"Ivy and Quinn aren't your friends."

"Don't make me say frenemy. I hate using any word invented after 2004." Catwoman sat up. "Pretend I'm your butler. Explain to me how you're not insane."

"Those two would've jumped on the deal, found some wealthy patsy, then killed him for his money. If I'm the patsy, I can keep an eye on them."

"If they don't kill you. That part's kind of important."

"I wasn't lying at the press conference. Ivy and Quinn can be redeemed. It'll just take more work than I implied. But think of the good they can do if they were rehabilitated."

"They could give you a double blowjob." Catwoman's eyes flashed. "Or is that not the kind of good you're talking about, lover-boy?"

"I'll use every ethical method at my disposal to change them. But nothing will happen that they won't want."

"Kinky." Catwoman pulled down her goggles to look him in the eye. "But you're still not answering the real question."

Batman considered throwing Catwoman's jealousy in her face, but he knew it was only from years of partnership that she felt safe asking even this unspoken question. He stood there looking at her like she wasn't in black leather and he wasn't in body armor.

"Nothing would please me more than to ask you, but I know the answer would be no. You value your independence too much. You could never give it up."

"True enough. Still, it would've been nice to be asked. Especially if I got to keep the ring."

"Selina—"

Catwoman cut him off. "The real question is, when's the wedding? More importantly, when's the bachelor party?"


	2. Chapter 2

Gotham Cathedral had been damaged in a recent battle between Red Robin and Clayface, but it was reopened in time for the wedding to be held there. All the sunshine and wedding music in the world couldn't do much to dispel the atmosphere of doom and gloom, but Bruce liked that. This wedding wouldn't be a celebration. It'd be work, and hard work at that. Might as well start it off on the right note.

There were hundreds of guests The event couldn't simply be for friends and family. It was for the cameras, the people. The bachelor party, at least, had been for Bruce. He'd spent it with the League and his allies, going through Gotham's underworld to rip apart the mobs as best he could. Leave them crippled while he was indisposed. He couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing.

Especially not waiting for what seemed like hours so that everyone could be seated and settled: Ivy's park orphans and fringe environmentalist allies, Harley's friends from the Arkham staff (she was exceedingly popular), and a fair bit of "rogues," reformed or not. Edward Nygma had a bridesmaid cornered, and Cobblepot was criticizing the wine list.

At least the Joker hadn't invited himself. At the GCPD's orders, Arkham had put him under twice his usual dosage. Then, a friendly suggestion from Bruce himself had doubled _that_ dosage. All kept under wraps, of course. The last thing he needed was for Harley to catch wind of it and go "liberate" her puddin'.

Excusing himself to go lurk in a confessional—the irony didn't escape Bruce—he called Oracle on comms. "Barbara, are you there?"

Barbara picked up immediately. "Yeah, boss. I'll be there any minute. Just waiting for my ob/gyn to give me a clean bill of health."

Bruce supposed that he should've been surprised that Dick and Barbara both being one-percent-fertile was all that they needed to officially get together. Still, it was impressive how fast they had gotten married, gotten pregnant, and now toddler-proofed the entire Clocktower. Maybe Barbara was just waiting for a marriage that she could bring Dinah into.

"It's not necessary for you to come. You can go to the Clocktower if anyone needs you."

"Gee, thanks." Bruce could picture Barbara straightening her glasses with a glare. The accompanying displeasure in her voice was that evident. "I want to be there, Bruce. And I'm going to be."

"Acknowledged. Are you picking up Ivy and Quinn?"

He heard a rattle of computer keys. Pregnant or not, Barbara was never far from a computer. "Yeah. I've got streaming video, audio, and my Carnivore software is flagging every word they say. I'll know if they plan to so much as use your toothbrush." Barbara paused. She never had been comfortable with the idea of spying on Bruce's 'wives', no matter the necessity. "Bugging their engagement rings. That's cold."

"That's survival."

"I'm just saying, marriage should be about trust. And sex. Neither of which you're big on."

Bruce managed a wry smile. "I don't foresee sex being a problem."

"Yeah, men never do. I'll let you know if they plan to spike the punch. Unless it's nonlethal."

"Thank you."

* * *

Barbara hung up and turned her attention back to the feed. With 3D imaging technology, a simple sensor within the rings could recreate a precise holographic record of everything within a thirty-foot radius of Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.

Not that they were that far apart. In fact, Barbara didn't think they could be any closer. Harley was leaning against a wall, her skirts almost over her head to make room for Ivy. The redhead was squatting between Harley's legs, her face peeking out of all that lace like a flower surrounded by petals. The render wasn't detailed enough to capture what Ivy was doing at Harley's groin, or how many fingers she was using, but the way Harley's head bounced against the wall gave Barbara a good idea of how fast she was going.

She probably shouldn't have saved the video feed, but it would make interesting viewing during her next Skyping session with Dick. A married couple should share similar interests, after all.

* * *

Bruce waited patiently at the altar, torn between his usual neutral expression and a nervously happy face meant for the cameras. He was used to waiting, and it was easier now that he was… off the market.

In board meetings or press conferences, he would usually think about how much he'd prefer to be hauling some super-criminal back to Arkham, or at least turning over a case in his head. But being here this time would make for one night, at least, when Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy wouldn't be pulling a job.

The organ music started up. Bruce resented the way the crowd turned and gasped. Not in the trite way of a romantic comedy, but in the gaping manner of a freakshow.

(How many people had come here just to see if the villainesses would end up slamming a giant vine through the wall and robbing everyone blind? He noticed that there wasn't much jewelry on display…)

Then they appeared through the massive double doors. Harley wore green. Pamela wore red and black. Neither wore white.

Bruce Wayne, of course, wore black.

* * *

Ivy left the church antechamber with Harley at her side. That was the only way she could participate in this bourgeois celebration of mammalian breeding. After a little persuasion, Eddie had 'consented' to give her away; she'd be taunting him with that forever. And one of Harley's old henchmen—Kennedy Two-Bear, Ivy would know if she cared—was giving her away.

She went down the aisle, everything seeming to shimmer through her constraining veil. Yet another irritation. She couldn't even see the massing hordes of Gotham so that she could properly despise them. Beside her, Eddie sniffled.

"I always cry at weddings," he whispered.

Past him, Harley was wearing a big grin. Happy to be the center of attention, to have everyone trying to get a picture of her, to survey the literally hundreds of guests in the narrow pews all turned toward her and pick out people she knows.

Ivy herself maintained an imperious scowl, a goddess walking over common clay. Thank the Green that Wayne Manor was outside city limits. She'd spend the honeymoon surrounded by an old-growth forest…

Then something annoyed her even more than the general play-acting of being dressed up and sold off for a dowry. The aisle felt like the longest two hundred feet she'd ever walked. Despite everything, despite the fact that she was far more interested in the size of Wayne's wallet than the size of _anything _else, this still felt real to her. Menage a trois or not, at the end of the day, she would still be married to Harley. And when she looked at Harley and Harley looked back, she knew the blonde was thinking the same thing.

Ugh. What she wouldn't give for the Joker to pull his usual crap then and there, if only because bothering rich people would probably land him more than a slap on the wrist and a weekend stay in Club Meds. "Where's the pasty-faced other man?" she asked Harley in a whisper.

"Oh, comedy's all about the unexpected," Harley explained jovially. "Everyone expects Mistah J to show up, so he won't. It'd be hilarious if he crashed our third anniversary or something though, wouldn't it Red?"

"Yeah. Hysterical." Ivy glanced up the aisle at her groom. As far as the human male went, she couldn't ask for a much better specimen. Appealing in an old money way, tall and handsome, tense with the importance of the date but not showing it, and filling out his black suit like it was a military uniform. She wouldn't be able to stand being married to him, but she'd make a great widow.

She wasn't cruel though. She'd send him off happy. Even give him a fairy tale wedding. She glided into place at the dais, right beside Harley, and the priest said all the words that were expected to convince everyone that this wasn't about meaty, juicy, animal rutting. Which it was. Why else did the wedding dresses show off their cleavage so well, and the groom's tie point so prominently to his bulge?

Harley kicked her foot. The priest was talking to her. "Pamela Lillian Isley, will you have this man to be your husband and this woman to be your wife…" It went on like that. The priest, experienced as he was, stumbled through the change-up to the centuries-old declaration of consent. Even with Pope Francis's quick changing of church doctrine, the three of them were probably the first triad to be married in Gotham.

Ivy grinned a little when she realized the priest had skipped the part about "forsaking all others." According to the science boys, even triads wouldn't be enough to perpetuate the species. As a rare male one-percent-fertile, Wayne would need to marry another six women to meet demand. Shame he wouldn't get the chance. Sounded like it could be fun. Just throw him a sister-wife for the evening and she and Harley could have their fun with the other five.

"…as long as you both shall live?" the priest finished.

"At least that long," Ivy answered.

Harley had been looking over at her with a nervous grin, as if she was worried about a runaway bride. Now, relieved, she clapped a little. Ivy stared her down to listen patiently as the priest spoke to her. She agreed chirpily to stay with Bruce in sickness and in health.

Too bad for him he wouldn't be getting sick. He'd be getting dead.

* * *

The groomsmen and bridesmaids were all Bruce's friends, most of Harley and Ivy's loved ones serving time. Selina Kyle was the exception, pulling duty as maid of honor. She gave a speech which referred to Ivy as a "cold-blooded slag who likes trees more than any person, even Ryan Gosling" and Harley as a "deranged twit who couldn't break up with her psycho ex if he fired a rocket launcher at her—I know from experience." Then she toasted them and wished Bruce good luck with the "psycho sluts." The people who weren't Harley and Ivy laughed like she was joking.

Dick Grayson was Bruce's best man. He got up on stage and said "Uhh… I have no idea what to say." Then he displayed a notepad. "See? Nothing. I've been staring at this blank piece of paper for the last two months and I still have no idea what speech to give. Would anyone else like to talk? Anyone?"

Jason Todd was a groomsman. He was drunk. "Let me tell you about Bruce Wayne! Okay! Bruce Wayne is the kinda guy who—you get killed by the Joker—he doesn't kill the Joker! What kind of friend does that? _Fuck you, Bruce!"_

That made Harley laugh. Ivy patted her hand.

Tim Drake tried to take the microphone next, for lack of anyone else wanting it, but bridesmaid Stephanie Brown pretty much tackled him to get to it. "I just want to say that I think it's amazing how three people, who've been evil and dead and crazy and other stuff at one point or another, can finally find happiness together. And speaking on behalf of the youth of America—"

"Please don't speak on behalf of the youth of America," Tim interjected.

"I think polygamy is the coolest! Everyone should do it! Timbo, make an honest woman out of me and Cass. No, make two honest women out of us. Not one Frankenstein woman like that one time you grew a boyfriend clone in your basement. That was weird, but as your wife, I will support you."

"Did you get into the wine coolers?"

"No!" Steph held the microphone away. "I brought some weed. I seriously did not expect this thing to be seven fucking hours long. This is not at all what it is like on any sitcom I've ever seen. Not one person has fallen into the wedding cake." She brought the mike to her lips again. "Not one!"

The ringbearer, Damian Wayne, took the microphone from both of them. "When I heard that Father was getting married, I thought it was a waste of time. A simple breeding program is much more efficient. I was the product of a breeding program, and look how I turned out!"

"Yeah, short," Stephanie piped up. "Who was running your breeding program, Peter Dinklage?"

"Silence! Despite your _ample _experience with pregnancy, you clearly know nothing of eugenics!" Damian cleared his throat. "Ttcht. As I was saying, Father, I _thought _it was a waste of time. Then I learned both your brides were career criminals, who had taken many lives over the course of their mad rampages through Gotham. Now I see that although girls are stupid, girls that can kill people are not _as _stupid."

"So that's your kid?" Harley whispered to Bruce.

"He lives with his mother," Bruce replied.

Stephanie grabbed the microphone and yelled "Bruce/Harley/Ivy OT3!"

* * *

That was about all the reception Ivy could take. Selina was monopolizing Bruce on the dance floor anyway, so she took her leave to the makeshift coat check room, where a little sigh had the coat check girl leaving her alone to attend to a frantic need to masturbate. Alone, Ivy held herself open before a stained-glass window, letting the glorious facets of light penetrate her translucent wedding dress. It was a meager pleasure, the sunlight still mottled by Gotham's pollution, but it reminded her that the Green was always present, even in this cesspool.

"I knew I'd find you here!" Harley cried, sliding into the room and kicking the door shut with her foot. "I just knew it! Four for Harley Quinn, you go Harl!"

Ivy grinned wistfully at the attempt to cheer her up—overbearing even for Harley. "Married life. Just you, me, and a high-society twit. I suppose it's about what crooks like us deserve."

"Aww, Red, it won't be so bad." Reaching behind her back, Harley produced a bottle of champagne. "Look what I lifted already!"

Ivy grabbed Harley's offer and checked the list of ingredients; ever since her transformation, she'd been very tolerant of watered-down alcohol. Then she decided, to hell with it, and took a swig. It burned a little before it felt good, just like the rest of the wedding.

"That's the spirit, Red! Booze it up!" Harley took a seat on the floor, all the better to gaze up at her beautiful Ivy with the light shining past her. "Now that you're married, you don't have to watch your weight so much."

Ivy just stared at her. "That's a five-thousand dollar dress."

"Is it?"

"You're sitting on the floor in a five-thousand dollar dress."

Harley looked abashed before grinning. "I think it's going to end up sitting on the floor anyway."

Ivy snarled her way through another gulp. "Don't remind me."

"What's wrong, Red? Don't you like Mistah Wayne?"

"What can I say? I'm getting my seven-year itch early." Ivy passed the bottle to Harley. She hated drinking alone. "I've never minded sleeping with men, but it helps a lot if I get to rob them."

"We are robbing him! He's gonna pay for our food, our drinks, our rooms, and what's he getting' out of it?"

"Babies."

"Oh, right." Harley leaned back. "I'm gonna be a wonderful mother. I can just tell. I'm great with my hyenas."

"I don't think it'll be coming to that." Ivy leaned against the wall over Harley, her shadow covering the jester girl like a blanket. "If anyone's going to get you pregnant, it'll be me. If Wayne touches you, it'll be for the last time." Ivy licked her lips in pleasure. "And they call me poison ivy…"

"Whaddya talkin' bout, Red?"

Ivy pulled up her skirt in reply.

"Aww, Red, we already did that! Shouldn't we save a little for hubby?"

Fixing Harley with a stare, Ivy revealed her garter belt, with a small vial enclosed in it. "Something I won't be giving to the next man to get married." She held out the vial to Harley. "A custom-made STD by yours truly. The minute that _man _penetrates you, his days are numbered."

"But, uhh—I kinda prided myself on always having safe sex."

Ivy patted her on the head. "Don't worry about it. You'll just be a carrier. The virus will have no effect on you, and in twenty-four hours, it'll pass through your system. You just have to bed our dearly to-be-departed husband before then."

"Righto!" Harley saluted smartly. "Is it fruit-flavored?"

Ivy smiled. "Harl, you ask the most incisive questions. Find out."

Harley obediently guzzled the fluid down. "Ick! It tastes like mold!"

"I only used a little. Wash it down, dear."

Harley even more obediently guzzled some wine.

"Good girl," Ivy praised. "Now let's go find Wayne and start our married death together."

* * *

Bruce Wayne's was possibly the first Lamborghini Veneno to drive with tin cans tied to the bumper and a Just Married sign over the license plate. Bruce proudly sat in the driver's seat, swaying the wheel with a race car driver's finesse, while Harley sat in Ivy's lap in the passenger seat.

"Sorry again, ladies, that the honeymoon has to be postponed. I knew you were looking forward to Kooey Kooey Kooey, Pam, but the problem with private islands is that once one person steps foot on the place, it's booked solid."

"That's okay, dear." While Harley marveled out the window at the city blurring by, Ivy was leaning over the gearshift to rest her chin on Bruce's broad shoulder. "I don't need an untouched tropical paradise to be happy. I just need you."

"Well, you'll get me." Bruce winked at her. "All the _me _you can handle."

"You're incorrigible!" Ivy giggled. Her own mask was as flawlessly concealing as his. "But speaking of… _you, _have you thought about trying a few pheromones for our wedding night? They can make you go longer, harder, faster… bigger."

"I think you can trust Gotham's most eligible bachelor not to need any help in that department." Bruce went wide-eyed. "Wait—guess I'll have to stop calling myself that."

"Lots of guys use pharmaceutical enhancements," Ivy argued. "And they don't have two brides to please."

"Sorry, my dear, but the board just won't hear of it. Some foolish notion that if I didn't keep getting my booster shots, you might control me."

"Perish the thought!"

"And obviously, a billion-dollar company can't just have their president vulnerable to that. Why, if they didn't know better, they might think you brainwashed me into marrying you in the first place!" he teased.

"That's a laugh!" she teased right back. She settled her head against a weighty bicep and rubbed his leg. "Oh, Bruce… you've been so good to us. I wish I could be just as good to you. I want to have you in this car, right now. But when I think about what Woodrue did to me… I'm just not ready yet."

"Perfectly understandable, Pam. There's a reason I didn't drive a car with a backseat." He kissed the top of her head. "You take all the time you need. I didn't marry you for your body."

"Oh?" Ivy asked, rubbing her breast against his elbow.

"Well… not _exclusively._" He turned his head to let her kiss him. "I think you can do a lot of good in the world, dear. _We _can do a lot of good, together. In fact—I hate to bring up business on our wedding—but I've been thinking about what we can do, all three of us, moving forward. After all, you can't just sit around Wayne Manor eating cereal all day."

"We can't?" Harley asked, sounding horrified.

"Not _all _day," Bruce replied. "Harleen, I know you were stripped of your license, and even someone as powerful as I am can't convince your peers to let you work again. But Gotham does have a thriving film industry, and a lot of pictures could use a consultant."

"You want me to be in pictures!" Harley cried brightly.

"Of course! You'd be a joy to work with. And you could advise them on psychology, medicine, the underworld, Arkham Asylum—I can see hundreds of films benefiting from your hard-won expertise."

"I wanna meet Hugh Jackman! I wanna meet Hugh Jackman!"

Bruce reached across Ivy to give Harley's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll see what I can do. And Pam, Wayne Enterprises' biochemical division could use a woman of your talents. I can't just hand you a job, now, but I can get you an interview with Lucius Fox a week from Tuesday."

She eyed him ruefully. "I could see myself doing that."

"To say nothing of speaking on behalf of environmentalist causes and rehabilitation efforts. You two could be models of good publicity. With your handsome, debonair husband at your side, of course."

"You know what that means, Red? Parties! Free food!"

Bruce chuckled good-naturedly. And suddenly, Ivy felt sandwiched between two people on an entirely different wavelength from her.

The sooner Wayne was dead, the better.

* * *

As requested, Bruce pulled up to the front steps to find Alfred waiting with a tidy stack of suitcases. After telling the girls he'd just be a minute, he hurried up the stairs to wish Alfred off.

Alfred, as could be expected, was not in the best spirits for a vacation. "Are you _quite _sure about this, sir?"

Bruce rolled his shoulders. "Not a hundred percent, no. But I can't keep throwing these women in Arkham time and time again, letting their mental condition deteriorate each time. It's time for a game-changer. If Selina can be brought back from the brink, maybe—"

"And is it necessary to… expose yourself as much as you've done? I could stay a few days."

"The first few days will be the worst." Bruce shook his head. "I don't want you in the line of fire. Besides, you could use a vacation."

"Dearly so, sir. As does Dr. Thompkins. And San Francisco boasts both a splendidly reviewed revival of Shakespeare's history plays and a long-overdue tour of Master Drake's new residence. I'm quite eager to finally be introduced to his friends in the Titans." A long-suffering sigh, as it usually did, signified that Alfred had acquiesced to his employer's wishes. "I have prepared several meals that simply need to be heated up; they're waiting in the refrigerator. And tonight's dish is in the slow cooker. I warn you—it's vegan, in deference to Ms. Isley's wishes. And there is canned soup in the pantry, the names of several quality restaurants by the phone, all of whom deliver—"

"I think I can manage," Bruce said.

Alfred's withering look conveyed how much he believed that. "Also, Master Grayson has left some frozen pizzas in the freezer. If all else fails. Now," and Alfred lowered his voice significantly, "may I ask one last time whether you're sure this is a wise course of action, if your customary death wish has escalated into a decision to go out 'with a bang,' as it were?"

Bruce had a wan smile that Alfred thought only he and a select few had ever seen. "Oh, they're absolutely going to try to kill me. I'm just not going to let them." Sliding his smartphone a few inches from his pocket, he displayed the screen to Alfred. "Barbara's heading them off at the pass."

That did not do much to quell Alfred's worry. "Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Just one more thing." Bruce tossed Alfred the keys to the Lamborghini. "Fill up the tank before you get back."

For once, Alfred was shaken. "Sir, I couldn't possibly—"

"Alfred, you can't talk me out of dressing up as a giant bat and fighting psychopaths. Do you really think I'm going to budge on this? Here, let me get your bags."

* * *

With Alfred safely departed, the three newlyweds faced the cavernous depths of their home. As many times as Ivy had seen the mansion during her 'courtship,' she still felt like gawking as much as Harley. It was hers now. A home that seemed so much more real than anything the Broker could get her.

Bruce broke her out of her reverie. "Shall I carry you over the threshold, my lady?"

Ivy gave him a challenging glance. "I'll carry Harley. You can carry the luggage."

"No need!" Bruce exclaimed, wrapping one muscular arm around Harley's waist. To her squealing delight, he had her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold momentarily. Then he reached for Ivy.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, Ivy allowed the audacious mammal to lay his hands on her and sling her over his other shoulder. Heads dangling down to an ass like a marble sculpture covered by Saville Row, Harley and Ivy were carried together onto the premises.

"He's so… so strong!" Harley muttered joyously.

Ivy resolved that Wayne would die painfully.

After he'd set them down, Bruce let the newlyweds into Wayne Manor's first extension in one hundred years. The south wing, as Bruce explained, was for them. As he was giving them a piece of his heart ("Oh please," Ivy muttered), so too was he giving them a piece of his home.

There would be a gym for Harley, a lab for Ivy, a pool with attached sauna and hot tub, a combination arsenal and panic room just in case any old friends or exes showed up looking for them, adjoining bedrooms just waiting to be furnished according to own taste, and the piece de resistance—

"I put down on the wedding registry that you collect antique toys as well as action figures," Bruce explained. "And since none of my friends knew what to buy _me…_"

He called it the toy room. When she saw it, Harley simply gaped for a moment. It looked like, quite literally, her subconscious. Water guns. Teddy bears. Barbie dolls. Masters of the Universe. She took a single step forward. "Is that a Teddy Ruxpin? _Is that a goshdarn Teddy Ruxpin?"_

"Still has the original tape in it," Bruce nodded.

Harley hugged it, and him, in turn. Even Ivy made a vague sound of assent.

"Well, I'll leave you two to get your bearings," Bruce said, smiling despite himself at the sight of Harley making a sort of snow angel in a pile of stuffed animals. "Next time we get married, remind me to give the butler time off _after _he grabs our luggage!"

When Bruce disappeared, so did Ivy's patience. She reached down and grabbed Harley by the wedding gown. "_Remember the plan."_

"But, Ivy—look at how nice he's being. Maybe we should give him a chance. I could take care of, ya know… all the wifely duties."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you!" Ivy hauled the so-called Cupid of Crime to her feet. "You do all the wifely duties you want, just make sure it happens _tonight. _The sooner he's sick, the sooner he's dead. Then you and I can be together. Don't you want that?"

"Course I do, Red! I just—okay. You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right. Go to him, _without _the dress. I'm going to burn mine…"


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce had been expecting Ivy to send Harley after him to make a play, but he didn't know that she'd have so little patience.

As he returned to the south wing with their bags, he ran across Harley in one of the rooms set aside for their needs: a spacious office with posh leather furniture, a sprawling glass coffee table, and some unimposing antique artwork. The former 'Clown Princess' looked surprisingly well-fitted to the luxurious surroundings with her usual accoutrements replaced by the classy mint green wedding gown—a look in homage to her fellow bride.

There had been many reasons for Bruce to marry her, and he'd admitted most of them to himself. But there was one he hadn't been honest about. She was beautiful; a contradiction every bit as intriguing as Catwoman. Her big blue eyes protested her innocence, while her dark red lips admitted that it was a lie. She took off her veil and held it in her hands to fidget with. Her blonde hair had been dyed with a red streak—another tribute to her best friend and lover, Ivy.

"Hey Brucie," she said weakly. "Sure has been a crazy couple months, ain't it? You springing us from jail and telling us we could turn our lives around and all. It's been fun, ain't it? Seein' everyone running around like chickens with their heads cut off, tryna figure us out."

"It's been a real relief, thinking that I'll have you two to keep me company from now on." He smiled reassuringly. "Harleen, you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. As far as I'm concerned, as long as you're not hurting anyone or breaking the law, you can stay here as long as you want. I won't ever ask anything of you that you're not prepared to freely give."

Harley shook her head emphatically. "That ain't it. You're really nice. I should be with a sweetie like you. It's just, ya know—sometimes it's hard to tell if something is too good to be true or not. In Gotham, it usually is. So if you had a friend, a really good friend, who's out to take care of you and make sure you don't get played for a sucker, you should listen to her. Right?"

"Sounds reasonable."

Tears brimmed in Harley's eyes, and despite all the crimes he'd known her to have committed, Bruce felt the powerful urge to protect her from anything that saddened or scared her. Once divorced from the abrasively oversized personality that the Joker had foisted on her, the scars that had led her to her lifestyle were obvious. She was left soft and vulnerable, and he wished to God it were as simple as comforting her.

But she was like a wounded animal, likely to attack anyone who came near her, even if they were trying to help. He would have to tread lightly.

"Ivy… Ivy can't make you happy right now, cuz a what happened with the Florence Man." Harley was a horrible liar, but that just made her more endearing somehow. "But since she can't—I know I'm not a looker like she is—but I really wanna make you happy. You never know, right? Tomorrow you could get into a car accident or something, and if we take the time for you to wine and dine me, then we'll never get the chance to—"

"Can I be honest?" Bruce said, interrupting her clunky but startlingly effective seduction. She looked at him with clear eyes. "I'm not… just interested in your body, under the circumstances. In terms of what I find sexually appealing, I have this feeling that we have… similar interests."

"Oh?" Harley's lip wibbled, something in her responding to something in him.

He approached her, drawing his tie out of its knot. "Interests… appetites… situations where you'd be on the bottom and I'd be the top." He drew the tie down into his hands like a whip cracking. "You're not a stranger to that, are you?"

"Well, no… sometimes Ivy uses her vines and she ties me up and gags me and some of the vines have these big thingeys at the end…" Harley sounded excited. "But other times it's just because she wants me to be quiet so she can do her 'periments. And my, uh… ex-boyfriend? He did that stuff with me. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but sometimes… if we did it, and I wanted you to stop, you'd stop, right?"

"Of course." Bruce lifted her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Just say the word."

"Oh, we need a word! I've never had a word before. Never needed one with Red. But, uh, since you're new, how about… Batman!"

Bruce had an admirable poker face. Only his nostrils flared. "Your… safe word is Batman?"

"He usually stops me, so. You wouldn't feel weird, hearing me say somethin' silly like that?"

"I could get used to it."

Harley bit her lip. "Aww, geez… just talking about this is giving me all sorts a feelings! You think I could—would it be alright if I sucked your cock some? I'm really good at it…"

Bruce put his hands on her shoulders, fingers tightening, eyes flashing dangerously. He hadn't lied. He didn't usually give vent to this part of himself—the urge to dominate, control—but it was there. He moved his hands to Harley's neck like he meant to strangle her. "Harley… you haven't earned my cock yet."

"Oh. Don't put out on the first date, huh? That's good, my grans always told me to do the same. Unless a guy was really cute. Or had a lot of money. Or bought me a steak dinner-but it had to be good steak, not a steak burger-"

He shoved her onto a canapé. The leather squeaked under her as she landed, a ripping sound coming from somewhere on her dress. Bruce advanced after her, covering the space between them to tower over her. She looked up at him with a dazzling look of adoration in her eyes, reflecting her new submission.

As Bruce had expected, Harley would default to the dominant personality in her life. At the moment, that was Ivy, but with a little elbow grease on his part, she'd see him as her dom. From there, he could begin the process of rebuilding her fragile psyche.

First, though, she would have to trust him implicitly. And if she would continue to collate trust with sexual fulfillment, as she had in her relationships to Joker and Ivy, then he would just have to master her in that regard as well.

All while being careful to not expose himself to the virus that Barbara had informed him of. Thank you, Poison Ivy.

"Strip," he ordered, rolling up his sleeves.

Harley obeyed instantly, if hesitantly. She undressed with slow, shy movements, first slipping her lacy gown up and off off her body. Bruce enjoyed the sight of her trim, delicate ankles, followed by the fittingly muscular thighs that crowned her slim legs. Her stockings were a virginal white, reminiscent of the white pancake makeup that she'd worn as a supervillain, while her garter belt had long since been caught by a displeased Tim Drake. It contrasted soothingly with the low-key tan of her athletic body.

"Happy birthday to you…" Harley crooned as she disrobed. "Happy birthday to you." Predictably, she had some trouble snaking the dress over her head. Bruce crossed his arms to stop himself from helping her. The sub had to do it on her own. "Happy birthday, Mistah ohshitIjustrealizedicould'vesaidhappyweddingnight."

The dress finally popped off Harley, her beautifully proportioned body finally coming into view. Inside her uplift bra, her breasts were small but incredibly perky, while her ass was similarly small and tight within her panties. They rode low, low enough to show off the tiny diamond she'd shaved her pubic hair into.

Again, the white seemed fitting. If nothing else, she was a virgin to him.

"Happy wedding night to youuuu," she finished, a tad off-key. "And many more! Wait, I mean-phooey!" She cleared her throat. "A-heh-heh-hmmm." Her affected speech impediment now replaced by the serious tones she'd used as a mental health professional. "What else should I take off, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce's eyes swung from bra to panties, from the high heels she'd been teetering in all night to the wispy stockings that looked more like stiletto daggers' sheaths.

"Nothing," he said firmly. "Bend over. Over the back of the canapé."

"The what?"

"The couch," he explained, and gave her ass a brisk slap for speaking out of turn. Harley squeaked, then cooed a little as the pain faded.

She did as she was told.

"Now lower your hands all the way to the ground."

She did, her obedience now well-ingrained in her. Bruce took hold of her slender wrists and bound them to a leg of the canapé with his tie. A bit tighter than necessary, knowing that she would enjoy it.

Then, there she was. Practically hog-tied, her ass up in the air for his inspection. He gave it a look. Unlike Ivy, she didn't have a juicy Granny Smith apple of an ass, but one that fit her kinky little body, with all of its litheness and athleticism. He felt it out, finding it firm with muscle to the point of hardness. The kind of ass that he might bruise his hand on. For the moment, he just felt it, squeezed it, let his hand dimple the flesh despite its resistance.

"Do you like my ass, Mr. Wayne?" she asked, lapsing a little into her Marilyn Monroe impression. "You should! I twerk a lot.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Harley," he stated the obvious. "Have you paid for being naughty?"

"No," she said in a small voice.

"No what?"

"No, sir."

"Good." He squeezed her ass harder, to the point of hurting her, but she made not a sound. When his hand left her, her skin was flushed white. "What do you suppose we should do about your naughtiness, Harley? How can we make you a good girl?"

"I don't know, Mr. Wayne. You'll think of something. Please think of something. Hugs?"

"You're not going to be punished for being naughty, Harley. But you are going to be taught a lesson. The only way you'll learn."

"Please teach me, Mr. Wayne. I want to be a good girl. Make me a good girl!"

If it surprised Bruce how quickly she had latched onto him as an authority figure, he didn't show it. He'd demanded her submission, and he'd received it. Now he enjoyed it, bringing his hand up and then down with all the ceremony of a rabbit punch.

Harley gasped, the noise almost as loud as the sound of flesh against flesh had been. "Hey! What'd my bum ever do ta you?"

Despite her affront, Harley was glad for the manhandling. Before she'd met the Joker, no one had really known how to please her. A lot of guys, she just didn't tell about her kinks; and when she did tell them, no matter how eager they were to play, they never followed through. Giving her soft little love taps like they were having a tickle-fight. Bruce didn't play around. He gave her exactly what she wanted. A mercilessly hard spanking.

"Eek!" Harley cried, startled but pleased as her body instinctively wiggled to escape the pain, made her nipples hard to enjoy the pleasure. As if he'd gauged her response, the next slap Bruce delivered across her pert ass seemed to resonate into her clit. It throbbed like Ivy was testing a fresh batch of pheromones on her. She wiggled harder, trying to press her warming pussy to the canapé and get some relief.

Bruce wouldn't allow it. With his free hand, he applied firm pressure to the small of her back, pinning her in place. Harley's legs kicked, but he'd already gotten out of range, standing atop the cushions.

(One more reason to send Alfred away; he could tolerate a lot of things, but damage to the furniture was not one of them.)

"Why are you being spanked?" he asked gruffly, rubbing her pinking cheeks.

Harley had been biting her lip. It took her a moment to extricate her teeth from her lower lip. "Because I was naughty! A no-good-rotten-not-getting-presents-from-Santa..."

"No," Bruce said, taking his hand away. "Really naughty girls go to Arkham. Why are you being spanked?"

She didn't answer. He grabbed hold of her hair and jerked it up hard, the red streak flowing from his hand like a bloodstain. Harley whined in pain.

"Why are you being spanked?"

"So I can be a good girl!"

"Do you want to be a good girl?"

"Yes!"

He rewarded her, smacking each of her cheeks in turn. She writhed under his strong hands, but her moans were from pleasure.

Bruce stopped again. "Do you want to hurt people?"

"No!"

"Do you want to break the law?"

"No!" She was crying now, tears dripping down to the hardwood floor. Bruce ignored them for now. He had to be firm.

"But you'll want to later, won't you? And you'll want to see the Joker again."

Harley shook her head frantically. "Uh-uh, no way, nosirree—"

This time there was no wind-up. He swung with all his strength, hitting with the speed and force he'd bring to bear on a criminal. She clenched up as the pain shot up her spine, nearly rocking her off the couch. He had to steady her with the hand he had holding her down.

"Aaaaaaaah," Harley let out, not quite pain and not quite pleasure, but definitely knowing Bruce was serious. "Okay, okay, I might!"

"No. You won't." He gave her butt a cursory pinch, the twinge of pain keeping her attuned to him. "Because whenever you feel naughty, you'll come to me. And I'll make you a good girl again. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, please!" she gasped as his hand swept lower, over the pussy that he'd left dripping. "I wanna be a good girl! I wanna be your good girl! I wanna wear pretty dresses and play with kittens and dress as Disney princesses for Halloween and fuck, can I rub my pussy please? Feels so good…"

Bruce took a moment to lay his hand on her ass, marveling at the taut young flesh, swearing he could feel the blood thrumming under her reddened skin. Harley moaned into the contact, as if she too could sense the busywork of her skin, the veins constricting and the bruise forming, her very body preparing for another blow.

Harley let out a sob. It was painful, how close she was to an orgasm.

Bruce was shocked to realize that it was arousing him. Not the act of hurting her, but her reaction to it. The way she stopped just short of wiggling her ass to invite another blow, her cooing entreating him for more, her soft moans accepting and enjoying the submission.

This could actually work.

Harley sensed his hand rising, saw its shadow over hers like the Bat-Signal in the night sky, and looked back over her shoulder to see him regarding her with a reassuringly perverse smile. She inhaled, only to let it out in a scream when his palm came down hard on her upturned rear.

More followed swiftly, bending her double as she ducked her head and pitched her ass into the air. Her butt was reddening now, and she squeezed her powerful thighs together to try and hold onto the pleasure the spanking drove into her cunt.

Bruce noticed, and made a split-second decision that she'd had enough. He'd instilled as much as he could in her for this session; it was time to drive the lesson home with some positive reinforcement.

But he couldn't let her forget who was boss. It was an easy thing to rip her panties off; he didn't even need both hands. And as strong as she was, he had the leverage to force her legs open. The sight of her wet pussy, with its vivid pinkness just begging to be entered, made him painfully aware of how hard he was within the confines of his boxers. The way she automatically did the splits, her legs actually extending to either of the canapé's armrests, made it clear they both wanted it equally bad.

But it was her own fault she couldn't, mindlessly going along with Ivy's schemes. He gave her a lightly admonishingly slap on the mound of her pussy, before he dipped his fingers into her. Her bark of pain trailed off into… singing.

"O say can you see, by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed…" Harley broke off into some very unharmonic groans as his fingers pistoned into her even faster, twisting smoothly inside her to stimulate her most sensitive areas. She felt his manicured nails rake over her G-spot, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Not only was he good, but every bit of pleasure he gave her was filtered through the pain of her red-hot ass, hitting her brain tinged with reminders of his power over her.

"Good girl," Bruce said, his deep voice resonating in Harley like the explosive bass of a subwoofer. He petted her hair with his free hand, Harley now holding herself in place. "Come for me, Harley. You've earned it. You've earned your orgasm."

"Call me—a good girl—again!" Harley squeaked out, her body bouncing rhythmically to the tune of his skillful strokes.

Bruce drew his fingers almost entirely out of Harley, bringing them to her clit—and pinching it tightly. Pain and pleasure blended into one for Harley. She came. Squirted, in fact, a blast like one from a water-gun. Her whole body shook with its passage, her small breasts jiggling into blurs.

"And the rocket's red glare! The bombs bursting in air! Gave proof through the n-n-n-nighttt…" Harley trailed off as the flow slowed to a trickle.

"Good girl," Bruce said distantly. Even now, the world's greatest detective was analytical. He had always been suspicious what 'changes' Ivy had made to her partner in crime. Speed and strength, obviously, and he felt it was safe to say that Harley was immune to Ivy's 'toxic personality'. He wondered if this was another enhancement to Harley's physiology.

Plants needed water, after all.

"-that our flag was still there," Harley finished, her voice tiny and woozy. Her orgasm had left her sprawled over the canapé's back like drying laundry, legs kicking like a dreaming dog's and fingers unspooling from the tight fists they'd been in. Bruce patted her soothingly on her sore ass, letting the ever-so-slight pain remind her of his presence.

"Thank you, Mistah Bee," she gasped. Then, she looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes, continuing in a bald-faded plea. "Can I have one more? Please, Brucie? I won't try to kill you no more, and you know you wanna." If she realized that she'd just admitted to attempted murder, it didn't show in her continued begging. "Please give my hot little ass one last go? Pretty please? With cherries and sprinkles on top and peanut butter if you like that?"

He gave her offered ass an even lighter pat, like he would give a faithful steed. "No, Harley. You have to learn discipline. I say when you're chastised, and I say when you've had enough. Understand?"

Her head dropped, but her voice wasn't sullen. "Yes, Bruce."

"Good." He stroked her ass again, watching her shiver as the pain died away. "But since you were nice enough to heed me without arguing, I can do something else with your ass." And with both hands on her bruised cheeks, he opened her up and inched his thumb toward her puckered anus.

"Wait, that's not—I don't want—Batman!" she cried at last, her eyes flailing about in real distress.

Bruce released her, holding his hands clear of her to show her that he'd stopped. "What's wrong?"

Harley was breathing hard, almost having a panic attack. She bit down on her hip, mum as she calmed down, and he moved to unwind his tie from her wrists. She straightened up on the canapé and massaged her wrists. Although she was sitting on the ass that he'd just spent long minutes torturing, she gave no sign of pain.

"Nuthin'!" she said, with bright, false cheer. "Nothing's wrong! That's just for Mistah Jay, okay? You can't use that or he'll be reaaaaaaaaaal upset. Even Red doesn't go in there."

He smiled understandingly. "Alright, Harley. Consider it off-limits."

She smiled crookedly, than her eyes dropped to take in his groin. Despite the safe word putting a damper on his arousal, his erection was still noticeable through his trousers. Very noticeable.

"Oh, Brucie, look what I done to ya! You're all tuned up! Let Nurse Harley see."

Lightning-fast reflexes had her hand back in her hair, holding her quite still. He didn't know if she still meant to infect him or if she'd legitimately forgotten. Either way, it didn't do to take chances.

"You don't deserve to touch my cock. You haven't earned it. But you will."

She looked even more disappointed than she had when he hadn't continued the spanking she'd so enjoyed. Her eyes flicked up to him hopefully. "Have I… perchance…" –she dropped it like a five-dollar word in a ten-cent conversation–"earned your cum? I really wanna know what your cum tastes like, hubby."

Positive reinforcement, Bruce thought wryly. This wasn't going to be much like training Robins. "Hands behind your back. Mouth open. Don't move."

"Sir yes sir!" She saluted, before remembering to cross her hands next to her reddened ass.

With her compliant, Bruce undid his belt and unzipped his fly. Then, with some difficulty, he maneuvered his hardness out. He knew better than to think that a big cock was the only thing that counted when it came to pleasing a woman, but it was still gratifying when Harley went wide-eyed and gape-jawed.

"Humina humina humina!" she exclaimed. "It's so big! It's so big and hard and big!"

On the rare occasion that Bruce couldn't simply sublimate his desires, he practiced on efficiently dealing with his body's needs. He gripped himself tightly and did what came naturally, even to him. And Harley watched, her eyes like a dog's following a tennis ball, practically panting.

In rapid succession, she went from seductress to street whore. "Give me your cum. Please give me your cum? I don't want to beg. I'll beg. Cum on my face, Bruce! Let me have some make-up sex!"

Harley tried to look him in the eyes while she begged, but it was hard to stop staring at the sheer excess of meat hanging nearly vertical over her face. Was it just that she hadn't seen one since the Joker–one of the villains too dangerous even to be used for the preservation of humanity–had been locked up? Because surely, it couldn't be as big as it looked. Nothing could be that big. That… wonderfully big.

In a few moments, Bruce's breath was labored, and his brow dotted with sweat. His hand traveled furiously over his cock, and Harley did her best to help him: talking about how he could make her come so hard with a cock like that, how even Ivy would come, how they'd be good girls for him, Bruce Wayne's good girls.

And she rocked on her haunches and thrust her tits out and watched him gasp and tremble, the hand on his cock going faster and faster, his mouth falling open in satisfaction and his eyes falling shut, the motion reaching a fever pitch as Harley followed her husband's example, closing her eyes and opening her mouth so wide…

A moment later, she opened her eyes in shock. Bruce's penis still stood before her, dripping its excess and flagging only a little. She watched its hypnotic deflation as it settled, still amazingly substantial, against Bruce's leg. Then she looked at herself.

Her breasts, still rising and falling to the beat of her breathless anticipation, were absolutely covered in sticky white ejaculate. She could feel even more of it on her face, like she'd just put on twelve layers of facepaint. It was warm and heavy, and when she licked her lips, it didn't at all have the acidic tinge of the Joker's seed. This was almost… yummy.

She looked up at him once more, thankful and overjoyed. "I always wanted a white wedding."

* * *

As if a curse had been broken, Harley's baby-talk awakened Bruce from his trance. The mission came first: his dry spell had been nearly as long as Harley's, and without prison showers and Ivy to tide him over. He was shocked at how much he had enjoyed this.

Rapidly, he tucked himself away and excused himself from Harley. Thankfully, she was accustomed to her boyfriends' post-coital showers. She waited until he had gone, and then ran a finger over her breast, coming up with a tower of cum. Harley could barely observe the uncanny sight for more than a second before she had her finger in her mouth, slurped clean.

Finally, she began to masturbate. After all, Mr. Wayne hadn't said that she couldn't do that.

* * *

Bruce charged into the bathroom and ripped off the NuLatex gloves that he had worn to mimic human skin. He had no idea just how contagious Ivy's virus was; although he'd prepared for it, he'd started off the encounter with no clue that he would be fingering Harley.

Now, he dropped the gloves into the biohazard waste can that every room in the house had (as a billionaire, he could afford to be eccentric). Then, using his elbows, he turned on the tap and prepared to spend the next fifteen minutes scrubbing off his hands.

But first, he smelled them, and caught a distinct scent of peppermint. One of Ivy's enhancements.

He found that it only whetted his appetite.

* * *

Still naked, and still fairly covered in jizz, Harley entered her new bedroom in a daze. Ivy had already redecorated, freeing the plants that Bruce had provided from their pots and taking out the wall between her room and Harley's.

The shared bedroom now resembled a jungle, its roots flowing in and out of the windows that Ivy had so gleefully shattered. She was just as naked as Harley, though the usual assortment of leaves and vines conspired to preserve a modicum of modesty. She fully expected Wayne to barge in at any time, and had no wish to allow him to see her in all her glory.

"Well, that didn't take long," Ivy observed, her eyes turned to the setting sun. "Trouble getting it up? I have some herbs that would—"

Then she heard, and felt, a drop of semen land on her undergrowth. Ivy turned to see Harley with face and sex smeared with cum, Bruce's on top and her own at bottom.

"Brucie threw me a surprise bukkake party. You should've seen my face." She swayed there a moment, then fell face down on the bed. This exposed the red handprints tattooed on her ass.

"Harley!" Ivy ran to her. Sliding onto the bed like she was stealing home and turning her over. "What'd he do to you?"

"He made me cum," Harley said dully. "He made me cum a lot."

"Oh, you poor baby…" Ivy held out her hand. In a few seconds, a vine was there, secreting a lotion to soothe Harley's battered bottom. As she rubbed in it, her sympathy was killed by agitation. "At least tell me you infected him."

"Uh-uh. He didn't stick it in. Anywhere." Harley giggled. "He was a perfect gentleman!" She licked his cum from the point of her chin.

"Stop that!" Ivy slapped her hand away from her mouth. "Don't you worry, Harl. Sleep. I'll deal with this personally."

"I think I'm in love…" Harley murmured.

* * *

In the Clocktower, Barbara began typing a text to Bruce's phone, warning him of the plan that Ivy was even now sharing with Harley.

"Good thing they're not comforting each other with sex," Dick said beside her. He had a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

"Yeah," Barbara said, somewhat wistfully. "That would've been awkward."

Dick broke cheerfully from his disappointment. "On an unrelated note, think we could talk Dinah and Kory into mud-wrestling?"

Barbara shot him a look. "They're your wives, booty wonder. You tell me."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This chapter was betaed by Nomani and Spring. As always, if you have an idea for a fic, send me a PM so we can discuss it._

The only thing Kory hated about coming home to the Clocktower was that she had to fly through a mile of subway to get to it. A scantily-clad superhero couldn't be seen flying into Oracle's secret headquarters, after all.

But after a few minutes of flying without sunlight, she came home, which was warmer by far. She flew up through the elevator shaft, and shot right onto Barbara's floor.

Kory loved Dick with a fervor that was only equaled by her relationship with Donna, but it was possible that what she loved best about being married to Dick was his other wives. Dinah was so glamorous and lighthearted - like her - and they got along like sisters. While Barbara was smart and calculating, a bit like Donna and a bit like Dick had once been: the perfect project for Kory to work on and cheer up and make love to.

She walked through their shared loft. Though each of them had their own little quadrants in the vast floor that held their residences, the influences of one swept through all the others. Donna's photography was particularly popular, as were her gifts of Amazonian artifacts, while the smell of Dinah's cooking and taste in take-out cuisine could be detected just about everywhere. As for Kory herself, she had enjoyed teaching the others how to care for the Tamaranian plants that now tagged virtually every room on the floor. With proper feeding, they bore very succulent fruit.

Kory went to the corner of the library—of course, in Barbara's building, the first room through the elevator doors was a library—and found her _es'crul_ plant thriving in spite of Barbara's earlier warnings about how she didn't have time to care for a plant. Picking an edible petal from one of its flowers, she savored the taste of home.

Then she heard Dinah's voice from behind her. "Are those safe for humans to eat?"

Kory swirled with a smile, perhaps using just a bit of her flight ability to give her hair-toss an extra kick. "Very much so—just like everything on Tamaran."

Dinah smiled back at her, smoothing an errant lock of her own behind her ear. "Good. I've already had, like, twenty."

Kory very pointedly widened her smile as she looked Dinah over. A certain part of her that went with her green eyes judged that Dinah wasn't quite as curvy as her—but it was a near thing. And more importantly, Dinah unknowingly held to a high Tamaranian philosophy: if you're going to defeat someone in battle, you should look good doing it.

Dinah looked very good doing anything.

"And do you still have an—appetite?"

Dinah licked her lips, her own eyes tracking Kory's hand as it trailed down the cool metal of the Tamaranian's armor. What little there was of it, anyway. Tamaranians had very few vital organs to protect…

"Now that you mention it… I've been wanting to ride you all day."

"What's stopping you, wife-fellow?"

* * *

"Babs, come ride Kory with me! It's amazing!"

The bespectacled redhead didn't look up from her computer, but she did look at the faint reflection on the monitor. Dinah was behind her, straddling Kory as the Tamaranian floated through the air while doing a joking breaststroke.

"Busy," Barbara replied. Her terseness, as usual, signaled that this was not one of those times where she wanted Dinah to 'persuade' her to give up the keyboard.

Dinah pulled on Kory's hair, reining her to a stop. "C'mon, Babs…"

"_You_ come on! Ivy just came up with her new plan to kill Bruce."

Unprompted, Kory flew to stand beside Barbara, Dinah awkwardly balancing atop Kory's six feet and four inches. "Will he be alright? What is it?"

Barbara could've _blushed _at how simultaneously scared and determined Kory sounded. Not an ounce of cynicism in her. She would love and defend anyone, especially the adopted father of her beloved Dick Grayson.

"Nothing too bad." Barbara called up the relevant surveillance footage as Dinah pushed through Kory's mane of reddish-gold hair to see it. "She's been up all night breeding a new species of plant. Near as I can place it, it's based on something that grows in _Borneo._"

She tapped on the monitor with her index finger, despite her hatred of smudges. If she couldn't show off a little for her alien sister-wife, what was the point?

"The leaves are edible, and they're the best thing to happen to penises since the blue pill. Just chew one and it doesn't matter if you've gone ten rounds with Huntress, you're instantly back—_up._"

Dinah kept hanging off Kory's strong back like she was a baby in a papoose. "We could use some of that around her. Much simpler than getting another husband."

"Yeah, unfortunately it has a hell of a kick. An overdose—and by that I mean about _three_—causes fatal heart failure. I've sent a sample to Dr. Holland in Louisiana."

"Swamp Thing," Dinah whispered to Kory.

"Ooh, I like him."

"_He,_" Barbara stressed, calling their attention back to her. She may not have wanted to give a briefing, but as long as she was, they would listen to her. "Is working on a safe version to swap out with Ivy's."

"Not to mention make a fortune," Dinah added.

Kory nodded, which Dinah avoided by ducking her head. "Ivy would do far more good if she used her abilities for niceness instead of evil. Why invent such a thing only to use as a murder weapon? Why not patent it, sell it for profit, and use the proceeds to simply _buy _the woodlands she wants preserved?"

"Well, she's a crazy person," Barbara explained. "But we're working on that."

"Working _hard_," Dinah giggled.

Suddenly, Bruce's voice came over Barbara's speakers. "Yes, Ms. Lance. Very hard."

Barbara gestured to her headset. "Ladies, this is why you shouldn't interrupt me when I'm working. Not even to ride Kory."

"That wasn't what it sounded like!" Dinah said hurriedly.

"Well, let's not be hasty," Kory countered.

Bruce's voice steamrolled over them, cool and efficient. "Ivy's antisocial behavior stems from the loss of control she felt when Dr. Woodrue experimented on her, leading to a pathological rejection of society in favor of identifying with nature. This went along with her developing a superiority complex; not helping was the fact that she truly is incredibly powerful. Egotism, megalomania, narcissism—all a defense mechanism. Think out her plan: she'll offer herself to me, trusting I'll find her so desirable that I'll accept a strange drug from a known poisoner just so I can copulate with her repeatedly. To break through her defenses, I'll have to allow her some measure of power over me—then demonstrate to her that the loss of power isn't necessarily a negative experience."

"And how will you do that?" Barbara asked.

He paused. "That's a private matter, Oracle. Speaking of which, you didn't happen to watch me during my engagement with Quinzel, did you?"

"Absolutely not, Christian Grey. Good luck with the green queen."

"Luck isn't a factor. Going offline. And Barbara—spend some time with your wives. Dick's showing signs of fatigue on patrol."

The line went dead.

Barbara straightened her glasses guiltily. "I don't know what he's talking about. And I saw Dick first anyway, so…"

Kory was too busy wiping the sweat from her brow to notice Barbara's fluster. "Was it just me, or was that a little hot?"

* * *

First thing in the morning, Bruce showed up at Harley and Ivy's room with breakfast. Harley, of course, took it in bed, drowning her pancakes in syrup. Ivy wasn't hungry, except for the possibility of getting Bruce alone.

Naturally, he offered it like he was obeying her pheromones.

"Pamela, if you're not busy, would you mind accompanying me to the greenhouse? There's something I'd like to show you."

"There's something I'd like to show you as well," Pamela grinned, picking up her new rosebush in its cute little pot. The leaves were coming in quite nicely. "You first, husband dear."

Gesturing her after him, they left Harley to lick the syrup off her nose by herself.

As she walked behind Bruce, Pamela desperately wished that she had a knife to put between his shoulder blades. She kept picturing him putting his meaty animal hands on Harley. And to think, he'd actually tricked the little fool into thinking she'd _enjoyed _it.

Well, they'd see how he enjoyed _her. _A real woman. A goddess.

"As I said, I think you could do wonderful things at Wayne Enterprises." Bruce looked back at her as he prattled on, sparing barely a glance for the little potted plant she bore before her. "There's one particular project that I think would be right up your alley. Tell me what you think."

He pushed open the double doors. And like they'd been teleported, they were outside—the austerity and gloom of the manor giving way to a bright, warm greenhouse.

Ivy suppressed a shudder as she felt sunlight's familiar caress on her green skin. Her wedding dress long discarded, she'd quickly resumed wearing her leafy costume. And people thought it was just what she wore. It was armor, as much as a Celt's war paint or a soldier's camouflage. But because it showed some skin, everyone thought it just meant she wanted to fuck them.

As usual, that was to her advantage. "Mmmm," she moaned erotically, brushing the leaves down the slope of her cleavage, showing her breasts almost to her moss-green nipples. "The sun feels so nice in here. Tell me, Brucie, do you tan?"

"Not as much as I should," Bruce confessed with a chuckle. "But please, we can sun ourselves later. I really have to show you this."

"Mmmmm," Ivy repeated herself, withdrawing some foliage from the back of her costume until she was practically wearing a thong. "I'd love to see anything you have to show me."

There was another reason she wasn't wrenching a knife out of Bruce's body at the moment, aside from the difficulties that that would give even the most pheromone-happy inheritance judge. Bruce cut a sweet figure in that cerise-colored polo shirt and white slacks. She would enjoy using him up, having the sum total of his life and death inside her. There was a beautiful naturalism to the thought. She'd reclaim his cruelty and arrogance as waste water was reclaimed from the soil.

Bruce played at obliviousness, walking her toward one of the many attractions in the miniature forest of the greenhouse. This one looked like a rubber tree, but it didn't feel the same to Ivy through the Green. It was oily somehow. Malnourished.

She resisted the urge to start fixing it. Later. When Wayne was dead, she'd turn his entire mansion into a jungle. A proper garden.

"I know how sensitive you are about the logging industry," Bruce said, patting the trunk of the strange tree for a handhold like he was thinking of climbing it. "But it's unrealistic to expect the whole world to just give up lumber to please you. So I thought, what if we can have both? Lumber, and healthy, thriving trees?"

"Co-existence?" Ivy sneered, and it took real strength of will to keep from laughing bitterly. The only way metal coexisted with the tree was when the tree simply grew around it, as she had done with Harley.

"Exactly. I thought of how trees shed leaves every year, with no harm to the plant, and how sheep are shorn without hurting them at all. Why can't lumber be the same—ah!" He got his grip and pulled at the trunk. To Ivy's utter surprise, a thick slab of wood came off the trunk, almost to the core. "Way."

Ivy stepped forward, fingers clawing to send poison straight into Wayne's bloodstream.

But through the Green she sensed something—the tree wasn't sending out any distress. It wasn't hurt. No more so than it would be with a piece of bark scraped off, or a twig snapped away. Already, she could feel the lost wood growing back, _wanting _to grow back.

"It's not perfect," Bruce said, setting the lumber aside. "It takes far too long for the wood to grow back and it leaves the tree weak. That's fine in controlled conditions like the greenhouse, but in nature, it'd have to be much more resilient. Any input you could give us would be vastly appreciated."

Ivy licked her apple-red lips to a sheen. Yes. Yes, this was perfect. Enough to earn him her beautiful murder. "It's wonderful, Bruce. I think this must be your legacy. Your lasting gift to the world."

"The first of many!" Bruce said, grinning like a clod. "Let's give them to the world together."

"Yes, Bruce. But first, something for us. Just for us." Ivy set the rosebush down in a tree's crotch. "I'm tired of being alone. I want you to have me, Bruce. And with this, you can have me so many times… so many ways."

"Oh?"

"After you've come inside me, just eat one tiny leaf and you can do it all over again. As many times as you like." Her hands freed, Ivy ran them over Bruce's muscular chest. "As many times as _I _like."

"That's thoughtful of you," Bruce said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. "But I'm sure I won't need any… herbal aids. Not with a woman as beautiful as you."

Pamela's eyes darkened to a shade of viridian she let few men see—and less survive. "We'll see."

"Tell you what. After I come, if you want to keep going, I'll try it. But I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by my staying power. I'm no minute man!"

_No, you're a dead man. _Ivy moved in close like a predator lunging, pursing her hands on his chest as she brought her lips up to his—and then shoved him back instead.

Bruce lost his balance, tumbling down among the thick buttress roots of an arjun tree.

Ivy was down atop him in an instant, losing the leaves from her body so that they fell away with her speed. She straddled him, gripping his wrists tightly and raising them over his head, pressed against the tree trunk.

Vines sprang from the wood and securely bound his hands, while more emerged from the roots to bind his ankles. She kissed him hard, running her hands over the lines of his face and then his broad torso, in ownership. He groaned, perhaps unwillingly, and shifted his hips under her. She abandoned his mouth, left him gasping, to suck on his throat.

And her ivy feelers crept up his pant legs to shred his trousers. Her slender fingers bunched in his shirt and ripped it open. Even as she gave in to his desire for her, she wanted him to know who the powerful one was.

Then, Ivy abruptly stopped, leaving an angry red hickey like a vampire's bite on Bruce's throat. So… _mammalian_.

She reared up atop Bruce, letting him take in her naked body. Before she had his life, she would have his awe.

And she had it. Her mint-green body was perfect, giving the appearance of being as carefully cultivated as a Japanese bonsai tree. Her hips wide and lush, her breasts seeming weightless despite their bountiful size, her legs endless. All leading inexorably to the perfect flower that was her face—red lips and jade eyes and blood-red hair burnished by some of the brown leaves that had fallen from her costume. A few more clung to her damp body, giving her a savage look. Nature red in tooth and claw.

The feeler that had started at Bruce's feet reached his groin, its frond wrapping itself around the eye of his zipper and pulling it down. Bruce felt the slightly disconcerting sensation of Ivy's plants maneuvering his manhood out of his underwear, followed by the somewhat tangy feel of the last of his clothes being reclaimed by nature.

Soon, he was laid bare before Ivy. A sacrifice offered up to a jungle goddess.

Ivy stared down at his cock, which had grown long and hard in anticipation—not that it had far to go. She raised a considering eyebrow, wondering if she'd even be able to take it.

Then she scoffed. It wasn't _that _big. It'd just been a while since she'd last entertained a man, that was all. Why bother when she could get whatever she wanted from one with a few pheromones?

But no. She'd give Wayne the full treatment. Especially the dawning horror of realizing that his own pleasure had killed him.

She disdainfully petted the throbbing beast between them, like it was one of those forest creatures that knew its place. Then she lifted herself up, and eased herself down.

Even the notorious Bruce Wayne hissed through his teeth, his hands tightening on a branch overhead, as she took him inside her. Ivy felt almost as much pleasure at that as she did at the feeling of being parted, entered—surrendered to. Then, with a degree of worry, she realized he just kept _going. _There was more of him. Much more.

Ivy hadn't been a virgin in a long time, although the only penetration she'd received lately had been from Harley… and those toys were quite undersized to offend disrespecting 'Mistah J'. But it felt like she'd _never _had anyone so big inside her. He couldn't really be as thick and full as he seemed, could he?

Unless he was still growing…

"You're so beautiful, Ivy," Bruce groaned as she came to rest with what seemed like—what _had to be_—all of him _pulsing _inside her. "How can a woman be so beautiful?"

She felt an echo of a blush at his compliment; most men lost all their charm as soon as they were inside her. But no, it was just flattery. She wouldn't give him anything for being _better _at predatory maleness than his predecessors. In fact, she slapped him across the face.

"Not a woman. A goddess."

And he smiled at her, one side of his face blooming red. "Yes, Ivy. Of course. How could I forget?" He bent his head in obeisance to kiss the skin over her heart almost chastely.

His show of respect merely angered her. She disliked the taste of being worshipped by _him. _Of course he was awestruck by her. How could anyone not be? But all she needed from him was his seed.

"Come for me," she ordered him, her hips churning already, massaging his cock inside her, burying him within her.

And he was stiff, firm, unyielding. Nothing like the cold dead _toys _that had entered her before. He was warm and alive, his member full of pounding blood. It appealed to the animal in her; hitting just the right spots as she held it inside her.

She was having trouble denying how good it felt, having a man bow before her and offer up the homage she was due. Ferociously, she bit back the pleasure. This was about murder. Nothing else.

Arching her back, she drew him even tighter within her. And he did grit his teeth at that. She delighted in her mastery over him.

Then, Ivy belatedly realized that she was cooing. It really did feel good—much better than Harley's overenthusiastic penetrations. Would it be so bad to enjoy this just a little bit? Already the sparks she burst with every sweep of her hips traveled her receptive body...

It wasn't as if it was something _he_ was doing to _her_. _She_ was doing it to _him!_ And he was _very_ doable…

Ivy soon found herself enjoying it _very _much. His subjugation. Her conquest. Even the way he bucked his hips in perfect counterpoint to her receiving gulps was all in servitude to _her_.

She almost regretted the fact that she had to kill him, because now and forever, he was hers. Her servant and her acolyte and her whore. Even his last thoughts would be of _her._

He gave all of himself to her when even Harley held back out of loyalty to her clown, and she took all of him. Everything he could—

Ivy's tireless hips sang as she pushed them forward, hard, like she meant to swallow Bruce's entire body within her own. Her flesh burned and burst, a cleansing forest fire that cleared what felt like acres of deadwood from her.

But at her center he remained cold steel… at least in comparison to her inferno.

It took her a few gasping breaths to realize what had happened. She'd come. He was still rock hard inside her.

She'd come. And he hadn't.

In all her previous male encounters, Ivy had _never _come first. No matter how romantically her paramour presented himself, he always wound up rutting with her like an animal and lasting as long as a fruit fly. But Bruce was still there. A useful, well-cared-for, _reliable_… tool.

The man himself bent his head as reverently as a priest in prayer, gently kissing some of the dew from between her breasts. She knew from experience that it was sweet as syrup, without the tartness present in the sap between her legs. "I hope you enjoyed that, Ivy. Enough to repeat it, even."

Ivy sensed a challenge in the smirk that he tried not-hard-enough to hide. A faithful tool, but one that didn't quite know its place. She would teach it to him as he died, and on his grave she'd plant a mighty oak to commemorate his one real contribution to nature.

* * *

Once Harley had finished her breakfast, she thought of pushing her plate under the bed. That'd been her usual housekeeping method back when she and Ivy had stayed over at Eddie's hideout. She would let the dishes pile up until Ivy yelled at her, or got one of her pheromone buddies to clean them up.

Now, though… it'd probably make Bruce pretty happy if he saw that she cleaned up after herself.

Wearing nothing but her Tweety Bird boxers and the top half of a standard-issue Arkham jumpsuit (she'd kept it because it was so comfy), Harley went over to the nearest kitchen, where she put her plate by the sink. Then she went to the pantry.

As she should've known, there was only boring, _healthy_ food there… but there was also a grocery list hanging out in the open. She quickly grabbed a pencil and added every cereal she'd seen during the ad breaks of her Saturday morning cartoon.

Then she realized she could make Bruce even happier.

Rinsing her plate and silverware off in the sink, she scrubbed them clean and set them in the dishwasher, and then returned to the bedroom for Ivy's. As Ivy hadn't eaten her pancakes, Harley gobbled them down for her. Pam was an environmentalist, right? She would've hated waste.

Soon, Ivy's plate and silverware had joined Harley's in the dishwasher. Harley thought about how pleased Bruce would be with her when he saw how she'd kept his pad nice and tidy. In fact, she'd like to see Ivy make him that happy!

* * *

Ivy was determined not to give Bruce that power over her again. She would bring him to a quick, hard orgasm, feed him the leaf, and only then allow herself—allow _him_—to enter her.

She stood up (shuddering as her freshly-fucked pussy met the greenhouse's damp air), and reseated herself in Bruce's lap, crossing her ankles behind his back and nestling her sex against his still-erect manhood.

Like a potter at a wheel, she caught the snake in her hands. She felt it jump between her palms as she gave Bruce what amounted to a lapdance—grinding herself into his body until she was as close as moss to a tree, rubbing her hard nipples against his chest, even nuzzling the sides of his neck with her soft lips.

Finally, she heard the softest whisper of his breath quickening.

This was it.

Riding his thighs, she manipulated his cock over the outside of her pussy, its head poring over her labia and up to her inflamed clit. It was getting to him. She knew it. She could see the beads of sweat on his forehead as she sweetly caressed his cock with her sex, an electricity seeming to crackle between them—softly, gently building, a low-level hum that grew and grew.

"You're going to come for me," she announced, squeezing his powerful cock and feeling it almost _resist _her. She loved its heated, concentrated stiffness, but only because she took it as a sign of her power over him.

"After you," he said blithely.

She pressed him firmly against her, parting her lips on his shaft, riding up and down over every little vein. At the tip, there was the slippery feel of his precum. She enthusiastically rubbed it between her palms like she was moisturizing. Rubbed them both, masturbating herself as she jerked him off, trapping his cock between their bodies as she rubbed them together, moaning obscenely as she fingered herself instead of letting him penetrate her. Hearing the strain of his bonds as he tested their strength.

He was weakening. A little more, a little more…

She was inches from his face, her lips parted, her eyes locked with his when he kissed her for the first time. His tongue in her mouth like that was all the penetration he needed, an incredible _passion _there, a power that she couldn't contain, that she could only ride and shape and accept into herself—All too soon she felt her embers flaring into a roaring flame once more.

Ivy would've thought that her last orgasm would've left only ashes, nothing more to burn, but Bruce poured gasoline all over her. Her back went rigid and her groin bloomed with heat and when she finally went slack, it was only to collapse atop him.

His body was soft, oiled with sweat, a bed she could coil up on and indulge her sated weariness—all but his manhood, nudging insistently against the flesh of her thighs.

Bruce smiled sweetly. "Had enough?"

"How can you ask me that?" Ivy demanded, her impatience shining through. "You haven't even come yet!"

"I can always do that with Harley."

Face twisted into a snarl, Ivy grabbed him by the base of his cock and impaled herself on him.

* * *

After a round of _Saint's Row The Third_, Harley decided to take an afternoon nap. When she woke up, she decided to go on Amazon and order some toys. If she didn't spruce the place up, it could get awfully dull in Wayne Manor.

* * *

Now Ivy rode Bruce so hard that every swing of her hips rammed his back into the tree trunk. Leaves were falling down around them in pointed contrast to the violence of the coupling they surrounded. The tree itself groaned with the stress it was enduring. Ivy didn't care. She had to conquer Bruce. He had to be hers, damn it!

She relented only to tease him, pleased with the fevered gasps her respite brought as her hips continued to roll on his pelvis. Then she raked her nails through his chest hair as she surged against him again, so hard that her breasts slapped against his face, going too fast for even their exquisite softness to be painless. She could tell his resistance couldn't last.

Ivy's eyes drifted close and her world became silence, just the staccato chorus of her jaw working its little exercises to try to contain the pleasure. It didn't work. She let out a squeal that had her opening her eyes to see if Bruce had heard her. And he had. His face was grinning and filled with pleasure. She realized her own cheeks had pulled into a smile.

And so, either out of vexation with him or fear of her own growing response, she stopped dead. Every delicious movement of her body around his cock stilled. She waited for him to beg.

He didn't, just sat there, evenly meeting her gaze, seeming to luxuriate in the tightness of her hot cunt without ever caring if she'd continue. So she rocked just a little, an idle motion designed to tease and tantalize. It certainly did for her, lightning shooting through her blood.

Bruce exhaled softly, but made no other reaction, content to enjoy her ministrations.

Her hands ran soothingly through the soft hair of his chest, trailing over the marks her fingernails had made. His nipples were as erect as her own, and she played them between her fingers. His head drifted back, a dreamy smile on his face as he rested against the tree—like she was giving him a massage.

It was maddening, insulting, _unfair. _She had power over him, but only what he gave her. Aside from that, he was immune to all her tricks, her poses, her ploys. He was her prisoner beneath her, but he'd _chosen _to be.

And it turned her on. That frightened her more than anything.

She could leave right now. She almost did, easing herself off his turgid erection, feeling her pussy tingle as it was abandoned. Every perfect inch of him left her one at a time. And the fire in her belly that had done nothing but spread and spread began to die.

"Nnnnnh!" Ivy cried, throwing herself back down onto his cock, her head thrusting back in the ecstasy of sudden fulfillment, her crimson hair falling back to tickle at the small of her back. It was impossible to resist. Her hips darted up and slammed down, taking even more of his relentless cock inside herself.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Ivy," Bruce moaned out, the first chink in his armor, an admission of weakness that threw fuel on her fire.

Losing all her composure, Ivy's mouth dropped open and her eyes bugged out in the O-face that Harley had so much fun teasing her about. Her orgasm fired inside her, but wasn't enough. In rapid succession, Ivy bounced herself atop Bruce's cock another half-dozen times, then dropped her hand between her thighs and frantically flicked her clit until a second explosion took her. This time, she felt a liquid rush and heard a gushing splatter as her sap squirted from her, all the way to Bruce's chest.

"_Yessssssss," _Ivy rasped, sweat dripping from her heaving breasts as she lost her balance, having to throw an arm back to support herself as she floated down from her climactic high.

Bruce's cock was angrily hard inside her, pinning her in place.

"Satisfied?" he asked, a tranquil smile greeting her when her eyes finally opened.

Ivy's voice emerged from her afterglow sickly sweet. "Not until you are, husband." She assumed her sarcasm was lost on him.

* * *

Awake from her nap, Harley went to some of her favorite forums and whittled away the afternoon responding to those who criticized her by posting aggressive .gifs. Stupid Bronies had no idea what _My Little Pony_ was all about.

It was only when she sighted one of those pop-up ads asking her to take a survey about Bruce Wayne's double wedding that she thought of where Bruce and Ivy had gotten to. Probably doing something boring, like going over their pre-nuptial agreement.

* * *

In the greenhouse, the quiet was almost tranquil. The screaming orgasm and frenzied mating of the last bout had been forgotten. Ivy had decided that this time, she would allow herself one gentle orgasm from Bruce Wayne before she really got down to the business of killing him. And so her well-rounded ass moved in gentle, rhythmic circles, around and around in a perfect O, letting her feel all of Bruce inside her. First here. Then there. Everywhere.

The meditative sounds of the greenhouse's few machines and those of the animals that had been permitted inside melded with the liquid sound of Bruce's cock within Ivy's dripping womanhood, with the fleshy rasp of their thighs rubbing together, with the low purr of Ivy's breathing as she absorbed the pleasure Bruce gave her like a plant would take in water.

"Oh yes," she muttered in a loving litany. "Oh, that's it. That's it. Just like that. Just like that…"

Bruce's chest worked like a bellows, his strong breath gusting out of his body and rumbling back in. With Ivy twined around his torso, staying where she'd collapsed the last time, each breath shifted her body around, lazily moving her lips to new place to kiss and suck. She found his mouth on one pitched intake of air, cutting off that steady breath with her soft, wide lips, her hands playing at his neck and hair.

His passion was—pleasing for her to contemplate. The way he seemed hungry not just for a beautiful body, but for _her_… reminded Ivy of Harley, in a distant way.

Soon, his kisses left even her breathless. Breaking free and clutching the back of his neck, she forced him into his cleavage, where he kissed each nipple as they were offered up, caressing her breasts with his mouth. When she centered him on one, he sucked on it so hard he might've been trying to devour her. Even Harley didn't usually lavish such attention on her breasts, not once motorboating them ceased to amused her.

It felt so good that she had to push him back, running her hands from his thick arms to his flat stomach—now noticing the muscle, the occasional scar, all the little pleasures of his body. And he kept looking at her, bold and unafraid, but _respectful. _Loving, even. "I've never been with a woman like you before. You're so gorgeous… and you're so amazing. It's like a dream. I'm fucking the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm fucking Pamela Isley…"

She kissed him and his body came alive, jumping to plunge his cock deep into her, driving her up like he meant to crash her into the ceiling. He was only allowed the one kiss, then she returned him to her breasts, where the rough stubble of his cheeks and hard suction of his mouth had become quite pleasurable. She watched the ripple of his muscles as he drove himself into her; the transfixing thought that all that power was hers to command. He'd given it to her. His wife.

Suddenly, for all her power, all her control, she found herself paralyzed. Unable even to moan out the orgasm that possessed her. She sat atop him, her throne, panting and trembling while her body was racked by spasms. She could only imagine how he felt, his manhood inside her battered by pressure and violent warmth, her arms hugging him violently as he pumped furiously into her cunt. At last it was over. She could fill her limp body with breath. He rocked her from side to side as she came down from her latest climax, her penetration a persistent reminder of his victory.

Ivy ended up staring over his shoulder into nothingness, her heavy breasts stirring against his chest with labored breathing. Her arms and legs useless, her body sucked down against his like kelp after the floodwaters had receded, she wondered if perhaps she hadn't approached this the right way. Clearly, he had some issues with giving up control. Perhaps if she let him take the wheel—just until he died, of course—that would do the trick.

"Bruce?" she asked, cloyingly sweet. "Would you like to be on top?"

"If you don't mind."

"No, no-not just this once."

She didn't remember she had tied his hands until he'd ripped free of them. Then he had her in his arms, so powerful she felt trapped but also something else as he rolled, forcing Ivy under him. She landed on her back, the powerful buttress roots under her shoulders and knees like the armrests of a throne, and Bruce kneeling between her legs. He lifted her endless legs, kissing each as he draped them over his broad shoulders, then took hold of her hips and pulled her onto his waiting cock.

_What did it matter if I screamed? _Ivy would think, when she was capable of thought a few minutes later. It wasn't like there was anyone around to hear her.

Then a heated kiss would break through the last of her walls, leaving her defenseless against the onslaught of pleasure that crashed down on her like a flood. Her hips bucked like a wild animal and her fingers dug into the rich soil under her as she wailed his victory over her, louder even than her cry of penetration had been.

When she was capable of thought, more than a few minutes later, she would try not to think about that.

* * *

After another nap taken in the aftermath of her midday sugar rush, Harley awoke with a hunger for more than SweetTarts. Calling the pizza number next to the phone, she delighted in discovering that the local pizzeria delivered pizza, cinnamon sticks, breadsticks, crazybread, chicken wings, chicken poppers, soda, and very big cookies. If only the pizza place delivered high explosives, she'd never shop anywhere else.

Harley ordered one of each, and a veggie pizza in case Bruce and Ivy wanted some. Veggies. Yick.

* * *

Ivy stretched happily and reclined under Bruce. When she felt his cock brush against her leg, she took it as a comforting promise. "What are you waiting for, hubby? You haven't come yet."

"You said just once."

"Did I? You must've misheard me."

* * *

Harley remembered a dark time in her life, when she'd had to watch her weight. Then Ivy gave her a shot that let them play together. There were some minor side effects, like superstrength and enhanced agility, but mostly, Harley could eat as much as she wanted and stay flat as a pancake.

"Guys, pizza's here!" she announced after having three of everything. No answer, even to _that_. She decided to go look for them. They were probably wondering where she'd gotten to anyway.

* * *

Ivy lay under Bruce, burning and ice-cold and everything in-between. She gasped when she could breathe at all. She knew she'd had an orgasm recently—she could still feel fresh come on her inner thighs—but had no idea how long it'd taken her to recover from it.

Had it been dark out when they started?

"That was _alright_," she stressed, reaching a hand up to caress his chiseled face—_he hasn't even broken a sweat. _"But next time… harder and faster, okay? And rough. Very rough."

"I could hurt you."

"Oh, do try."

* * *

Skipping through the halls of the mansion, it occurred to Harley that the reason Bruce didn't want pizza might be the _only _reason someone wouldn't want pizza. She broke into a run. Hopefully Ivy wasn't killing him without her!

* * *

Facedown on the grass, surrounded by the claw marks where she'd gouged at the earth in her ecstasy, Ivy looked over her shoulder and saw Bruce regarding her with smug concern. Screw it. He had the right to feel smug after that.

"That all you got?" she asked hoarsely.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to break for lunch. I could bring you some refreshments if you'd like to rest a moment."

"Fuck that. Get down here and do your husbandly duties. And don't stop this time." She licked her lips. "Not until I scream."

* * *

As Harley had expected, being a smarty-pants, they were in the greenhouse. Harley could hear Ivy yelling, even if the actual words were muted by the glass walls. She hoped Bruce hadn't forgotten to water one of Ivy's plants. That always made Ivy yell at her.

Harley opened the door to the greenhouse and stepped inside. Pushing aside a few palm leaves, she stopped dead. Struck deaf and dumb by what she saw.

Ivy laid flat on the grass like a throw rug, spread-eagled, her hands gripping tree trunks on either side and her legs shooting straight up like a Rockette routine. Bruce laid atop her, naked, pumping himself up and down like it was exercise. He buffeted Ivy's voluptrous body with unrestrained violence, each time sending ripples through Ivy's generous curves. Her ass rippled, her breasts bounded, even her hair flew as her head shook in ecstasy. Her lips joined the act too, bursting out "Yes!" and "Fuck!" at every penetration. And Harley could see why.

Almost a foot of Bruce's moisture-coated shaft dropped into Ivy with each thrust, though the thick base remained untouched no matter how wide Ivy's legs spread. She was getting the cock—long, thick, and decidedly hard—that Harley had been denied the other night. And Bruce was kissing the moist lips that Harley thought were all hers, his hands sliding over Ivy's writhing body like he owned it.

Harley felt a shock of betrayal, an urge to run to her room and cry into her pillow—if only she could talk to Mistah J. He'd understand.

She couldn't stay. If she stayed, she would only be hurt more by what she saw. She kept watching, though. She had to see how far the betrayal went. Would he fuck Ivy's tits? Her mouth? Her asshole? Harley had to know…

* * *

Far away and understandably unnoticed, the house phone rang and rang. Finally, the answering machine got it with a cheery recording Harley Quinn had already programmed into it. After the self-made radio jingle was over, _beep!_

"Hello, Mr. Wayne? Vicki Vale, Channel 5 News. Sorry to bother you at home, but as a fellow One Percent Fertile, I'd love to know your thoughts on the ongoing infertility crisis. My viewers are dying to know if you intend to marry more women, and if so, who? Perhaps I could interview you over dinner…?"

* * *

Harley felt a little itchy and a little squirmy and a lot hot, unable to stop thinking of how Bruce had disciplined her even as he did the opposite to Ivy. Ivy liked to talk about how she hated men, but she was enjoying every moment of _this, _bouncing underneath Bruce to meet his cock like she was on a trampoline.

Harley watched her hug Bruce with her legs, crushing him to her in a desperate attempt to intensify her own orgasm. Harley had to be impressed by how Bruce had made Ivy come even harder than Harley could with her joy buzzer and special plant. And not that Mistah J was a bad lover, but _Bruce _didn't need a rubber chicken.

He let Ivy lay back on the grass like she was going to make snow angels, the sunlamps revitalizing her sweat-soaked skin. Harley distinctly went _eep!_ when she saw him exit her. He looked even bigger than he had the other night!

As Harley watched, Bruce stroked himself, gathering their comingled fluids in his hand and feeding it to Ivy. She eagerly sat up to suck the juices from his fingers and lick his palm, then collapsed back to the ground and opened her legs in obvious invitation. Bruce had expected nothing less. He was already guiding his cock back to her womanhood. Harley gasped in unison with Ivy as it went in. She could already see the beginnings of Ivy's next orgasm in the heaving breath she took.

Harley knew Mistah J was the love of her life and Ivy was her BFF. Still, she had to ask… could Bruce make her come like that?

* * *

_Beep! _"Hey Bruce, it's Selina. About our little chat the other night—I've been having second thoughts. After all, if you were my husband, you couldn't testify against me in court. If you want to talk about it, be at the Gotham Natural History Museum after hours. We can discuss that, and whether I should steal the Cat's Eye Emerald or not. I'm in the pro column myself."

* * *

Harley had always been an impulsive sort of girl. Without much in the way of conscious thought, she dropped her boxers to her ankles. Ivy had _her _ankles locked together at the small of Bruce's back and was pumping Bruce deeper into her, clearly about to come. All Harley could think about was doing the same. She couldn't stand Ivy finishing while she went without release.

And she wouldn't. Bruce stopped, plunged to the hilt inside Ivy, who went mad with lust at the cessation. She threw herself up against the billionaire, kissing him frantically all over his face, her green lipstick covering him like camouflage. Bruce acted as if she weren't there, staring directly at Harley, whose eyes were open very wide.

"Uh… hi there," Harley quailed nervously. "We have pizza."

"DON'T STOP! DON'T STOP! YOU BASTARD, HOW CAN YOU STOP?" Ivy was screaming, desperately rubbing herself up against Bruce to try to cajole him into continuing.

"I don't recall saying you could touch yourself," Bruce said calmly, as he idly kneaded one of Ivy's plump tits. It did little to sooth her, judging by the way she grabbed his hand and forced it to her mouth, where she sucked pornographically on three of his fingers.

"I, ah, I… uhh… we have pizza?" Harley muttered. She crossed her slender arms over her chest, then dropped them down to try to pull the bottom of her shirt over her incriminatingly wet pussy.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T MAKE ME COME, YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN!"

Quite casually, Bruce put his hand over Ivy's mouth. "Harley, I want you to sit down with your hands behind your back for an hour, saying nothing. If you do that, then I'll allow you to touch yourself."

Harley felt her juices trickling down past the ability of her shirt to cover. "Okey-dokey…" she nodded, shifting her weight with more than a little unease. She knelt down, biting her lip.

Bruce turned his attention back to Ivy. Taking his hand away, he drew himself out of her. Ivy shook her head in mute panic, opening her mouth to scream again when Bruce dove back into her. She went deathly still and all that came from her wide-open mouth was a gentle groan.

As Ivy came, Harley realized she didn't need to touch herself. She had climaxed without even one finger in her cunt.

And Wayne wasn't even finished.

* * *

_Beep!_ "Mmm, Roxy Rocket here. Heard you liked to live on the edge, Wayne, but two psychos at once? That's just fun. Maybe you could let me get in on the action. A three-on-one fight is just my kinda odds. Don't bother calling, I'll be dropping by soon enough. And don't bother turning your security system off, either. I love a challenge. Let's see if I can crash that big, busy bed of yours, lover-boy. And don't worry, I like it rough."

* * *

"Oww!" Ivy cried at her most undignified, feeling the tender flesh of her sex stretching painfully. For a while now Bruce's thrusting had caused pain and pleasure in equal measure, like the thorns on a rose, but now, as she raced toward orgasm, it became unbearable. "Stop! It's too big! It hurts!"

She flailed and Bruce grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her still as he gently withdrew from her, trying not to cause any more pain. Her crotch was flushed red, and Bruce's air of confidence was replaced with concern. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Yes—yes," Ivy grimaced. "It's never lasted this long before. You—you fucked me raw."

Of course, that brought a half-smile to the playboy's stupid face. He leaned down to her ear. "Then where else can I put it?"

Ivy took his meaning instantly. Even Harley did. Ivy looked over to her friend and saw that the Cupid of Crime was quaking and making mouth-shut 'ooh! ooh!' noises like a kid in class who the teacher wouldn't call on. Catching Ivy's eye, she nodded her head ardently.

Her cunt still aching, sending jolts of pain through her body, Ivy rolled over and got on her elbows and knees. Her ass was presented for Bruce's inspection, and she felt him do just that, eying it aesthetically while she laid with it up in the air, like a common whore.

It made Ivy feel dirty. A good sort of dirty.

She heard him spit, felt his fingers lubricate her asshole, stretch her out—it felt so good—then his cockhead sliding over her anus, seeking purchase. She groaned… already it felt far bigger than the brief intrusion of his fingers… she'd let Harley finger her ass before, but only when she begged and pleaded and stayed on her best behavior for weeks, and even then it was only Harley's dainty little fingers, not… _that._

But she couldn't let Wayne win. She had to… get him to… do the thing… whatever it was.

Letting him fuck her in the ass would accomplish that, though, she was sure of it.

He ran his hand over her back, stroking her spine for a few moments as she felt his cock take hold. Then his hand flattened between her shoulder blades, almost like he was holding her facedown in the grass as he _mounted _her. She gasped as her asshole went taut, pushed to the limit. Then past it.

She had never taken anything so big and it was just the beginning, as Bruce let his body weight take over and drill him down into Ivy. Ivy bit down on the flesh of her forearm as her resistant asshole started to _give, _the pain intense but the pleasure more so, something deeply taboo tingling in her mind. This wasn't something humans, _animals, _were meant to do, and that made it perfect for her.

Ivy groaned as her anus stalled him, but just for a few moments against his unrelenting pressure, then she felt him _inside. _Bruce let out a satisfied moan, like he'd just taken a long, cold drink after a day in the sun. Ivy clenched at him, her body trying to keep him out more than she was, but her twinges of discomfort were easy to overcome. Steadily, he worked his way inside, stopped when he heard her grunts become more pain than pleasure, waited as she accommodated him, then worked on her with a few short and slow thrusts. Ivy let out a long, pained exhale.

"Easy, easy," he told her, petting her hair and soft back, brushing some of the leaves away. His strong, assertive voice calmed her. He could _feel _her relaxing. "It's mine now. I've got it. You've given it to me."

She accepted it, but still whined in drawn-out protest when he shifted his weight to her once more, squeezing into her tight ass. She buckled underneath him, dropping her head into the grass, but he was unstoppable. Her hole fought him every inch of way, but he moaned exaggeratedly to let her know he enjoyed it, and finally, she couldn't resist anymore. Ivy felt her stretched asshole take all of him, his cock shooting inside her like a piledriver.

She screamed. Later, Harley would tell her she'd been saying **"YES!"**

* * *

_Beep! _"Wayne, this is Calendar Girl. Couldn't help but notice such an eligible bachelor taking up with two tacky whores named Ivy and Quinn. And then I couldn't help but wonder, out of all the villainesses this city has to offer, why them? It finally came to me, Wayne. You think they're prettier than me, _don't you? _But all pretty girls know how to do is lay there and look pretty. Ugly girls can use more than looks to please a man. Mark your calendar, loverboy—you'll see me soon."

* * *

"OH NO, NOT AGAIN!" Ivy yelled.

Bruce had had her by the hips and was dragging her anus onto his cock as her breasts swung heavily under her and her ass jiggled with each blow. Her toes were curling, her lips were pursing, her skin was sweating, her eyes were closed and she was about to come from being fucked in the ass. In fact, her arms had just given out and she'd slumped to the grass, her ass only staying in place because Bruce held onto it. It was all part of the best orgasm she'd ever had since the last orgasm she'd had, when suddenly Bruce stopped. Again.

"MAKE ME COME, YOU SON OF A BITCH, I NEED IT, I'M NEARLY THERE! PLEASE! I'M BEGGING YOU!"

Bruce ignored her, though his cock was hard and immense in her well-punished ass. "Harley, it's been an hour. You can touch yourself now."

Harley had been sitting down like she was in a trance, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to match the pleasure Ivy was receiving, but at his word, she dropped both hands between her legs.

The results were instanteous—they hit so fast that Harley had to lie down to avoid going completely unconscious. The greenhouse swam before her eyes until she turned to Ivy and saw Red clear as day. She was coming too.

Bruce had started fucking her again.

* * *

_Beep! _"Bruce, are you there? It's Dick, pick up if you're there. Pick up, pick up, pick uppppp! You're not there. Okay, Bruce, look, I broke my leg in one of those 'skiing accidents' our family keeps having, so I'm going to come over to your place to rest up. Don't worry, I'll be 'downstairs,' you won't even notice I'm there. Sorry to impose, but I just can't stay at the Clocktower for at least a week. Man, you had the right idea, Bruce. Start out small, marry two women. Even if they're crazy, there's just two of them. But Babs didn't want all her girls to be single while she got hitched. I thought they were all lesbians! I was just supposed to be a beard! Now Zinda's pinched me so many times I'm gonna have scar tissue on my ass! I just need to go a few days without a threesome, that's all. Don't tell Barbara where I am, she has nurse outfits… where are you, anyway? I've been trying to reach you for hours…"

* * *

Harley's arms were covered with gooseflesh and it felt like her legs couldn't hold her weight, even though she was sitting down. She was watching Bruce punch his cock into Ivy's ass, enjoying the strained noises they both made. Ivy was grunting and moaning with every one of the short, powerful thrusts Bruce made into her ass. The restrained, impetuous goddess Harley had long-known was gone. This woman was like Harley. She enjoyed being _fucked._

Harley was circling her clit with her fingers—it was hard to pin down, slippery as it was, but she enjoyed the chase, the electric tingles as her fingers slid around it. She watched as Ivy did the same: meeting her eyes, Ivy reached down between her own legs. Red loosed a ragged gasp as she made contact; echoed by Harley as the blonde found her clit. Bruce was speeding up too, feeling all of their sensations combining and overlapping. Harley watching Ivy, Ivy watching Harley, him watching both of them. He went hard and fast into Ivy, leaning down close to the tangled nest their lovemaking had made of her hair.

"I'm gonna come," he whispered into her ear, and her hand quickened on her cunt and clit.

Harley sped up too, fingers dancing inside her.

Ivy's body was clamping down on Bruce, now seeming to want to keep him inside forever. There was no pain, just the feeling of the full measure of his cock, all the way inside up. She was actually compelled to push back, feel even more of him inside her.

Harley came first, so eager to please that she picked up on the urges of the other two and gave vent to them. Her head fell back, mouth open, drooling, legs spread to display her pussy to the world as it quivered in orgasm.

Then Ivy. She screamed so loud her voice went hoarse, her hips driving back against Bruce so violently that she actually moved him several inches. Then she came with thundering finality, her nectar so plentiful that Harley could see it coat her fingers anew every time she stroked herself.

Finally, Bruce buried himself in Ivy's ass, his cock virtually disappearing inside her to loosen an ejaculation that a dam couldn't stop. As soon as it hit Ivy, she was in its grip. She felt a second orgasm on top of her first, her mind no longer remotely her own, but a puppet being moved by the strings of Bruce Wayne and her own treacherous, well-pleasured body.

Finished, Bruce stood, his exit prompting an avalanche of jism to flow from Ivy's ravished ass. He looked down at Ivy, dazed and barely conscious, her holes gaping and her weak body still shaking with pleasure. A few meters away, Harley was in much the same state, her hands still clasped between her legs like she was trying to hold in the ecstatic sensation.

As for Bruce, his cock laid limp between his legs. "_Now _I think I could use that leaf of yours," he said. "If you're up for it."

Ivy rolled over, her heavy-lidded eyes struggling to focus on them. "Why wouldn't I be?" she demanded, before passing out.

Before he let, Bruce picked up Harley and deposited her limp body beside Ivy. The two women instinctively curled up into each other, Harley first, then Ivy.

* * *

Naked, Bruce walked to the kitchen. After sublimating his desires for so long, coming out of it meant he was famished. He drank the entire jug of orange juice in the refrigerator, then saw that someone had ordered pizza, even if the leftovers weren't to his liking.

Vegetables.

It surprised him, but he had to admit he'd taken pleasure in his time with Ivy. He hadn't been able to let himself enjoy it too much, but there'd been a definite satisfaction there. After so many years of Ivy trying to seduce him, her pheromones toying with his system, her body paraded before him as a constant temptation—it'd felt only right to finally take her. The same way he'd enjoyed Harley.

He'd always thought of this part of the marriage as an obligation, something he'd eventually trust Harley and Ivy to take care of on their own. But now that he was partaking, it occurred to him that this was a definite side benefit. No wonder Dick did it so often. It was wonderful for morale.

Bruce was just reaching for another slice when a hand grabbed it from him. Past the slim wrist, it was defined by a silver bracer.

"Interesting dinner attire," Diana, princess of the Amazons, said before taking a bite.

They looked each other over without a hint of self-consciousness. Bruce had no wish to hide what he'd been doing, no sense of modesty in either of them to be offended. Diana's costume had always been one-part the frame around the painting, designed to showcase her beauty as much as defend it. Even if that wasn't the note Bruce usually tried to strike, he wouldn't pretend it wasn't gratifying for the sight of him to be enjoyed by a beautiful woman, just as it had been with his wives.

"If you're here to object, I believe you're in the 'forever hold your peace' timeframe."

Diana swallowed her bite. "How could I object? The Amazon way has always been victory through love, not violence."

"You could be a great help to me then." Diana took a considering bite, breaking the tension of the proposal. Bruce did not take this as dissuading. "With you as my wife, riding herd on the others, we could focus on real threats. Talia al Ghul. Red Claw. Cheetah. Circe."

Diana smiled fondly at him. "I know you mean well… but that's exactly the reason I can't. The pressure I feel when you make that offer. Millions of women look up to me as a role model, and I have to show them that even if they're in the One Percent Fertile, it's alright for them not to take a husband. Not if it's something that isn't right for them."

Bruce cleared his voice of rancor. "I was under the impression I could be right for you."

She touched his cheek. "Bruce… you asked me to marry you so we could be parole officers together."

Her hand stayed at his face. "Funny. I was just thinking of how I'd changed. Harley, Ivy… they're exceptional women. Any man would be lucky to have them, provided they don't kill him. Maybe… I think you know more about being a good husband than me."

Diana pursed her lips. The Amazons did not take wives, but there were some who had found their way into her bed time and time again. She treasured them all. "I don't know Quinzel and Isley as well as I'd like. But underneath all the wars you've waged with them, they're still people. You can bribe them with your riches and rule them with your psychology. But eventually, they will need love."

"That's never come easy to me."

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. It felt oddly like a promise. "Let it come and it will. Underneath _your_ wars, you're human too."

When he looked at her, she was more beautiful than ever. "Those women who look up to you… do you also intend to show them that a woman can change her mind?"

"My mind is made up. I won't marry the Batman. But if Bruce Wayne asked…" She left the rest unspoken. "Now, I'd never suggest you don't have a situation under control, but is there anything I can do to help?" Her eyes darted to his ring finger. "Besides that?"

"I've never had a head for gift-giving, but could you pick up something appropriately extravagant for Master Patel, my yoga instructor from some years ago? Bill it to me, of course. If he asks, tell him it's in gratitude to him for teaching me the Kantic Trance. It came in very helpful just recently."

"Oh? You needed to meditate under any waterfalls?"

There _had_ been a good deal of moisture involved. "Something like that."

Diana bowed formally. "I'll see to it. Thank you for allowing me to dine in your house, and my apologies for intruding without permission. I was merely concerned for your safety."

"No apology is needed, princess. You're always welcome here."

"And it's always a pleasure. Tell Harley that she may not have trained with real Amazons, but I would be glad to consider her a sister, if she wishes to go down that path. And let Ivy know that she may consider herself a god, but I've fought deities before. When my friends were threatened."

With a tight nod, Diana took flight. The skylight was open in the open room.

Bruce watched her go and thought about her words.

* * *

That night, Ivy woke up to find Harley wasn't lying at her side.

She was in Bruce's bedroom, traipsing with all her stealth through his door. She'd left her boxers back in the greenhouse—a fact that, unbeknownst to her, was causing Ivy a great deal of consternation—and her shirt billowed loosely about her body as she tip-toed toward the bed.

In it, the sheets parted to reveal Bruce. He sat up, naked body still gleaming faintly from the shower he'd taken before bed, and regarded Harley as she froze solid.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked with a smile.

Harley put her hands behind her back. She smiled at him, endearingly nervous.

"Brucie, how is it I could get to have earned your cock?"


End file.
